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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512937">Unlikely Alliances</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap'>boom_slap</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Unlikely Alliances [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Anxiety Attacks, Coffee Shops, College, Crushes, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Feels, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Matchmaking, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a teeny tiny wee bit of drama, implied not addressed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:00:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>With Martín, however…<br/>[...]<br/>Sergio doesn’t know much about love and he definitely doesn’t know anything about his brother’s actual preferences, but as he stares at them, he thinks that this might be worth a shot.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa &amp; Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Unlikely Alliances [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>356</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cococris/gifts">cococris</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>You must be looking at the tags and the author's name and be wondering: 'what the fuck?'<br/>Well, it's been ages since I got this prompt and cococris has been incredibly patient; thank you for that, dear!<br/>Anyway, it turned out to be longer then I myself expected, and I am no soft content connaisseur, but I sincerely hope you'll enjoy it xx</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hi, Sergio!” as he walks into the flat, Beatriz smiles at him sweetly from where she’s stretched out on the couch with Andrés, his head in her lap. Sergio immediately feels like retching.</p><p>It’s not that he <em> hates </em> the girl, no, he just… can’t stand her.</p><p>“Hey,” he mutters, toeing off his shoes. Andrés sits up, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders.</p><p>“How was school?” he asks and Sergio still wants to laugh at how much his half-brother is trying to play house sometimes.</p><p>“Normal.”</p><p>He doesn’t want to get into it; <em> normal </em> means that the teachers want to murder him for proving them wrong on a daily basis and his classmates all think he’s some kind of a freak.</p><p>He walks to the kitchen, where he finds Martín hunched over his notes. He looks up when he hears Sergio’s steps and grins when Sergio gestures towards the living room and rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Dinner’s on the stove,” Martín says, so Sergio goes to heat it up.</p><p>“A day off?” he asks.</p><p>“Yeah, I get to catch up on hours worth of studying,” Martín sighs. It’s one of the things that Sergio appreciates about him - he’s insanely smart and passionate about his studies. Andrés is smart too, of course, but he doesn’t really care that much about science, preferring arts and literature, and neither does he like institutional education, which made him drop out of highschool. Still, he insists on Sergio graduating. Bastard.</p><p>“What about tomorrow?” Sergio asks. He groans when Martín tells him he has an afternoon shift and Martín smirks, leaning back in his chair.</p><p>“Aw, Sergio, will you miss me? Are we friends now, finally?”</p><p>“Definitely not,” Sergio scrunches up his nose and turns towards the stove to pick up the stew and pour it into a bowl. Another good thing about Martín is that, contrary to Andrés, he’s never been rich. He makes do with cheap stuff and can whip out a dinner out of nothing. Andrés, before being disowned, has lived in luxury and he strives to live like that again; Martín, just like Sergio, has always been poor.</p><p>"What's with the exceptonally long face?" he asks, nibbling at his pencil.</p><p>Sergio takes a seat at the table and nods towards the living room.</p><p>“Oh, you can’t stand the lovebirds? Come on. They’re cute,” Martín says, shrugging.</p><p>“She’s trying to baby me, Martín,” Sergio hisses, gripping his spoon so hard it makes his knuckles go white. “Besides, she’s so-... moody. Shallow, too.”</p><p>“Beatriz is a wonderful girl,” Martín says calmly, looking down at his notes. It sounds like he’d said it a million times already, as if he’s almost bored of repeating it.</p><p>Sergio goes quiet and turns his attention towards the food. After a moment, they hear Andrés’ delighted laugh coming from the living room. Martín doesn’t look up when he speaks again.</p><p>“You can come over to the coffeeshop after school.”</p><p>To be honest, Sergio is extremely grateful.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>In the morning, Sergio learns that Martín has an early class and Andrés has some meeting at 8, which Sergio doesn’t ask about because whatever Andrés is doing, it’s probably illegal. He fights tooth and nail until Andrés agrees to let him skip the first class of the day. He loves having the flat to himself, because it gets very crowded these days, so any chance to be left alone is worth taking.</p><p>He enjoys some light reading and a cup of coffee until it’s time to go; then, he notices that he has no clean shirts. Of course. It was Martín’s turn to do the laundry.</p><p>Sergio goes to steal one of Andrés’ shirts, then; his brother has so many of them that it doesn’t make any difference.</p><p>What does make a fucking difference, however, is when he finds a box with an engagement ring in the drawer in Andrés’ room. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p><em> Dalí's </em> is quite crowded, as usual. It’s a pleasant enough crowd, though, the wooden chairs and benches filled mostly with students focused on their notes and laptops, pots with green leaved plants hanging over their heads and making the industrial space more cozy. Their tones are half-hushed, as if they were in a library. Along with the quiet music, the clicking of keyboards, the buzzing of the huge coffee machine and the rattling of cups against the saucers, they create an agreeable hum.</p><p>Sergio finds himself a place in the corner and leaves his backpack there, pulling out his wallet. He steps to the counter and Martín, dressed in a simple, black apron, gives him a toothy grin.</p><p>“Put the wallet away, my boss is paying even though he doesn’t know about it yet,” he says and Sergio rolls his eyes.</p><p>“You’ll get yourself fired one of these days.”</p><p>“That’s not happening, the staff loves me way too much for that. Isn’t that right, Mirko?” Martín calls over his shoulder and the big Serb turns around, a cup of cappuccino ridiculously small in his huge hand. He smiles fondly.</p><p>“Cheeky,” he says. “But for little Sergio, we can throw in a sandwich, too.”</p><p>Sergio can’t really get angry about being called <em>little</em>, because one: compared to Mirko, most people are; two: it’s impossible not to like the man. He’s like a huge teddy bear. Sergio is always amazed how he’s friends with Martín, who isn’t known to be the nicest person.</p><p>He accepts his cup of americano and a bagel, and goes to take a seat. Within minutes, he’s completely lost in his homework, although his mind keeps wandering back to the accursed ring hidden in the drawer. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>In the late afternoon, Andrés’ voice cuts through the regular noise and Sergio raises his head to see his brother - alone, thank God - entering the coffeeshop. Martín immediately grins, leaning against the counter on his elbows and tilting his head to the side as Andrés approaches.</p><p>“Salvador, hazelnut and redcurrant notes? It came in earlier today.”</p><p>Andrés smiles, his gaze trailing over the coffee beans boxed and displayed on the counter.</p><p>“I trust your choice as always, Martín,” he drawls. Sergio notices that Mirko is rolling his eyes.</p><p>Martín reaches for Andrés’ money without looking away from him. Andrés looks around, sees Sergio and moves to take the seat opposite of him, waiting for his coffee. Soon, Martín joins them - he places the cup in front of Andrés and doesn’t bother to go back to work; instead, he puts his hand at the back of Andrés’ chair and starts chatting him up.</p><p>Sergio watches closely, suddenly intrigued, mostly due to Mirko’s earlier reaction. He’s never really paid much attention to their interactions, since dealing with the two of them together was often a pain in the ass; they did everything in their power to annoy Sergio.</p><p>Now, he sees how they mirror each other’s grins, how their eyes shine with delight at the mutual understanding; he notices how their voices become softer, quieter, only intended for the other’s ears, not for anyone else.</p><p>Sergio slips out of his seat and walks over to Mirko.</p><p>“Say,” he murmurs when Mirko turns to him with a smile. “Does Martín ever talk about my brother?”</p><p>“Does he ever talk about anything else?” Mirko raises his eyebrows at him and Sergio frowns.</p><p>“Do you mean it like-”</p><p>“Like he has a huge crush on him, yes. Ever since I’ve known him.”</p><p>“Haven’t you two been… having relations, though?” Sergio feels incredibly awkward for even posing such a question, but Mirko laughs easily.</p><p>“We’ve slept together a few times, yes, but not anymore. I have a boyfriend now anyway, and Martín is-... Well, you see how he is,” there’s a hint of worry in Mirko’s voice now, as his eyes flicker to Martín, who’s still ignoring all of his responsibilities in favor of talking to Andrés, his ass on the table which surely would get him into trouble if his boss were there.</p><p>“Did he ever tell him?” Sergio asks, frowning, his mind already running over the possible uses of that particular piece of information.</p><p>“No. Wasn’t your brother married when they’ve met?”</p><p>Sergio scowls, remembering Andrés’ first marriage at the ripe, old age of twenty fucking one years old. Sergio was never particularly fond of Clara, he didn’t like having a third person around in the flat. Besides, he was fifteen back then, and Andrés was his only family, and he didn’t want to <em> share</em>, especially with someone like Clara who ended up breaking his brother’s heart.</p><p>Andrés wallowed in self-pity for <em> weeks</em>, bitter and angry and <em> sad</em>. Sergio couldn’t stand seeing him that way, all because of some stupid romance. He would never admit it out loud, but when Martín appeared in Andrés’ life just then, a part of Sergio was grateful for him, for his jokes and energy that finally made Andrés laugh again.</p><p>“He was newly divorced, yes,” Sergio says and bites his lips at the thought of Andrés getting married again. The problem with all of his girlfriends was always the fact that Andrés treated them like possessions, and often chose them based on looks and charm, instead of their actual personality. It wasn’t surprising that his relationships ended in disaster.</p><p>With Martín, however…</p><p>Andrés has other friends, sure, he’s always had some, say, acquaintances. But Martín seems to be the only constant in his life, besides Sergio. He’s someone Andrés has been seeing almost on a daily basis even for the two months before he’d moved in. And Andrés always seems so at ease around him, and he smiles so much.</p><p>Sergio doesn’t know much about love and he definitely doesn’t know anything about his brother’s actual preferences, but as he stares at them, he thinks that this might be worth a shot.</p><p>“Sergio?” Mirko puts a hand on his shoulder and he startles, blinking rapidly as he looks at the man. “What are you thinking about?”</p><p>“... nothing,” he says, but he can’t keep a small smile off his face, his fingers itching to get into writing down the ideas bubbling in his head. “Thanks for the talk.”</p><p>He goes back to sit down and both Andrés and Martín turn to look at him.</p><p>“What did you want from our lovely Mirko, hm, little Sergio?” Martín wiggles his eyebrows. Sergio doesn’t miss the look Andrés sends his best friend, something dark and guarded, a discomfort betrayed by a twitch of his lips. Interesting.</p><p>Before Sergio can come up with an answer, Beatriz walks into the coffeeshop and he has to suppress a disappointed groan as Andrés smiles at her. Martín slides off the table and gives the girl a kiss on the cheek as he passes her, going back to work because Beatriz immediately drapes herself over Andrés' lap and kisses him.</p><p>Sergio clears his throat.</p><p>"We're… in public," he mutters, making Beatriz giggle as she breaks the kiss and pulls away from his brother.</p><p>"I'm sorry, I was just missing my <em> cariño </em> so much," she says. "Shall we go, <em> querido </em>? The movie starts in an hour, but we could grab something to eat beforehand."</p><p>Andrés nods, getting to his feet. Martín stares at them, gathering dirty dishes from the neighbouring table, but Andrés seems not to notice, one arm around his girl as the other waves them goodbye.</p><p>The door closes behind them and both Mirko and Sergio look at Martín, whose lips are curled downwards in quite a pitiful grimace.</p><p>"... or you could just eat here," he says into space and sighs, and Sergio decides that one: he must have been blind; two: Andrés most definitely <em> is </em>blind. But he can make it better. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He spends the rest of the afternoon typing away on his old, battered laptop, coming up with a plan to save Andrés from another heartbreak.</p><p>First, he's going to need to show him that him and Beatriz have virtually nothing in common, while also underlining everything that he has in common with <em> Martín</em>.</p><p>Second, he will have to find a way to make Andrés realize the mutual attraction that Sergio is 80% sure is there. Andrés has never expressed any attraction towards men besides admiring works of art and himself (so, in Andrés' mind, another work of art), but he <em> does </em> seem especially touchy when he's around Martín. Not being appreciative of the male physique himself, Sergio may need to ask for Mirko's help with this one. God, the lengths he's willing to go for his brother's sake.</p><p>The third step would be to put a wedge into Andrés' current relationship, to undermine it and, preferably, remove Beatriz from the picture at least for long enough to make Andrés understand that he's going to be better off without her, that if he wants true romance, Martín is right there, someone who actually won't leave him, who won't break his heart.</p><p>Because Sergio knows for sure that Martín cares for Andrés. Besides, they're basically a family already.</p><p>"Done with homework?" Martín asks and Sergio's head snaps upwards. He blinks and takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes, then takes a look through the window to see that the sun is setting. He hadn't noticed people leaving the coffeeshop, but it's almost empty now, save for a few marauders that hang behind, finishing up their work, drinking up the last drops of coffee that no human should be consuming at this hour.</p><p>"Are you closing?" he asks Martín and the man nods.</p><p>"Yeah, sleeping beauty, Mirko has already gone home. I'm closing in half an hour. You want to wait for me?"</p><p>"Sure," Sergio shrugs, saving the document file and closing the laptop. "Do you need any help?"</p><p>Martín gives him a warm smile, one that's reserved for him, Andrés and sometimes, Mirko. As Sergio stands up, he reaches to ruffle his hair - it's a funny looking gesture considering the fact that Sergio is taller than Martín, but it's an honest display of affection.</p><p>"You can take the dishes out of the dishwasher and wrap up the cutlery."</p><p>They work together in silence until the last person walks out of the coffeeshop. Martín goes to turn the sign on the door and then climbs onto a chair and fiddles with the stereo placed on one of the shelves behind the counter. Sergio flinches when the speakers start blasting Guns N' Roses.</p><p>Before he knows it, Martín jumps down from the chair and grabs his hands, pulling him out from behind the counter to dance with him. Now, Sergio knows the song, of course - <em> Sweet Child O' Mine</em>, what's with those shortened conjunctions and prepositions - but he doesn't know how to imitate Martín's dance moves, the way he moves his legs and nods his head. Martín notices his discomfort and laughs, giving him a short hug.</p><p>"Okay, okay, <em> fine</em>," he says, going to open the register and count the money. He does it quickly, humming along to the next song and Sergio watches him for a moment before going to the backroom for the broom to start sweeping the floors.</p><p>It takes them half an hour of cleaning before Martín clicks his tongue and says <em> eh, that's bearable</em>. They turn on the alarm and lock the doors, and take a bus back to the apartment.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>When they walk in, they're welcomed by the sight of Andrés, shirtless, leaning over Beatriz, also shirtless, but thankfully in a bra, on <em> their </em> couch. <em> Their </em> couch in <em> their </em> living room, not <em> Andrés' </em> bed in <em> Andrés' </em>fucking bedroom.</p><p>"Oh, <em> for fuck's sake</em>," Sergio groans, looking to the side while Beatriz laughs and Andrés straightens up.</p><p>"We must've lost the track of time," he explains smugly. Sergio glances at them. Beatriz doesn't even move to put her shirt back on. Instead, she pouts.</p><p>"You two could have waited," she says and Sergio's blood <em> boils</em>, that's <em> their </em>apartment, Martín is paying rent, too, and he doesn't deserve to be treated like a nuisance by one of Andrés' girls, and neither does Sergio.</p><p>Andrés only laughs at that. Sergio watches, shocked, as Martín schools his face into an easy smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.</p><p>"Next time, let me know. Then, I'll take Sergio out on a date too, hm, Sergio?" he winks and laughs when Sergio scowls at him. Then, Martín disappears in his room.</p><p>"If you want to hook up, get a hotel room," Sergio snaps before he can stop himself and watches as Andrés' eyes widen and his fists clench. He doesn't get up, though - he wouldn't stand taller than Sergio anyway. Instead, Andrés stretches out on the couch even more, like a king in his own castle, sticking his chin out defiantly.</p><p>"If you want to keep the roof over your head, don't you dare talk to Beatriz like that," he says. Sergio knows it's not an empty threat - Andrés, as much as he loves Sergio, probably wouldn't hesitate to throw him out, even if just for a few days. Just to show him.</p><p>Beatriz smirks, snuggling closer to her boyfriend.</p><p>"Maybe he's just being a little teenage rebel. Look at Martín, he never complains like that," she tuts and Sergio wants to strangle her.</p><p>"Of course he doesn't," he spits and goes to his room, slamming the door behind himself. <em> Teenage rebel, there you go. </em></p><p>Falling asleep, Sergio reassures himself with the thought that come Saturday, he'll begin the execution of his plan. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"So… they're opening this science fair," Sergio says casually during breakfast and Martín nearly falls out of his chair.</p><p>"I've read about it! Fuck, is it today?" he asks, suddenly fully awake and excited. Andrés laughs at him.</p><p>"Yes," Sergio nods. "I thought we could go. Andrés?"</p><p>His brother smiles down at him from where he's leaning against the counter, sipping on his coffee.</p><p>"If you want, sure. Beatriz is visiting her friend out of town, so I would be bored anyway."</p><p>Sergio knows that Beatriz is visiting her friend, only her friend doesn't know that yet, because it was Sergio who sent out the invitation. Oh, well.</p><p>"Good," he says. "The only problem is, we're going to look stupid, because someone here in this very room forgot to do the laundry again."</p><p>"Hey, Sergio?" Martín smiles sweetly. "Go fuck yourself."</p><p>Honestly, this is why Sergio prefers him over Beatriz. Or Clara, for that matter. He teases him often enough, but overall, he always treats Sergio like an equal; he's also one of the very few people that seems to understand, more or less, the kind of bond Andrés and Sergio share.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Both him and Martín end up in Andrés' shirts, since the man's closet is bottomless. Sergio quickly forgets about the discomfort of wearing his brother's awfully expensive - and a bit too short - clothing, he almost forgets about his <em> plan, </em> even, because the fair is nothing short of amazing. <em> Fun, </em> Sergio would even say if he had any idea what the word is supposed to mean.</p><p>He nearly forgets about the plan, but then again, it's going smoothly. Andrés and Martín are all over the place, wonder in their eyes, talking <em> constantly </em> about the functionality and the beauty of every single innovation presented.</p><p>Sergio forgets about both the plan and the fair once he spots Raquel. Now. Raquel is a girl from his class and she is the <em> only </em> girl he's ever had a crush on. Not that it was difficult to develop such feelings. She's tough, smart, beautiful, she's the only person in the whole school who treats Sergio like a normal human being, while at the same time challenging him in class, <em> arguing </em> with him.</p><p>"Sergio, hi!" she spotts him and suddenly, Sergio remembers his - well, Andrés' - shirt. He feels himself blushing, but he clears his throat and decides to be cool.</p><p>"Hey. What are you doing here?"</p><p>Raquel raises an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed.</p><p>"I never would have expected for such a dumb question to leave your mouth. Everything alright?" she asks, her lips twitching.</p><p>Sergio wants to say <em> yes, sure</em>, like a cool person would. Instead, his shoulders slump and he sighs heavily.</p><p>"I'm just-... stressed. Generally speaking."</p><p>"Mm," Raquel gives him a nod, her eyes twinkling with wonderful understanding. She looks around and notices Andrés, who's currently trying to wrestle Martín into touching a Van de Graaff generator. "It's your brother over there, right? I think I saw him around school a few times."</p><p>Sergio is pretty sure Andrés has only visited his school to threaten people, but he decides against voicing these thoughts. He nods instead.</p><p>"Have you seen the lights show?" Raquel asks and Sergio stares at her for a moment before realizing that she's <em> offering </em> to take him to see it. He can't help but smile as he shakes his head.</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Come on, then," she grabs his hand and pulls him towards one of the pavillons. Suddenly, Sergio doesn't care about anything but the feeling of her fingers closed around his.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"So, Sergio," Andrés drawls as they're strutting back home; well, Andrés and Martín are, because Sergio is just walking along, hands in his pockets. "Who's the lady?"</p><p>"A friend from school."</p><p>"Since when do you have friends?" Martín laughs and Sergio wants to throttle him, but Andrés beats him to it and smacks the back of Martín's head. It's a playful gesture, though, almost fond.</p><p>"She seems interested in being more than a friend, <em> hermanito</em>," the man says and Sergio frowns, taking off his glasses to clean them nervously with the corner of his - well, <em> Andrés' </em> - shirt.</p><p>"I don't think so."</p><p>"Nooo, Sergio!" Martín takes a few quick steps and turns around so that he's walking backwards, face to face with him. "You have to realize that you're a very handsome young man! I'm sure most dumb girls are intimidated, but that one seems quite sure of herself. Would be good for you."</p><p>Sergio waits for Martín to trip and that's exactly what happens - the pavement is uneven and Martín only has time to shout <em> la concha- </em> when his heel meets one of the flagstones. Before he falls, though, Andrés dives in swiftly and catches him.</p><p>Now, Sergio has seen a romantic comedy only once, when Clara insisted on a <em> family movie night. </em> He didn't pay much attention to the movie itself, but he remembered one thing: the improbable amount of clumsiness of the characters, leading to numerous <em> romantic </em> instances of falling into each other's arms. It was infuriatingly dumb; Sergio would never have imagined such a scene happening before his very eyes, and yet.</p><p>Martín is definitely <em> blushing</em>, stopped mid-fall, Andrés' hands gripping the back of his shirt tightly. His own are fisted in the lapels of Andrés' jacket and he stares at him with wide eyes; then, he breaks into a wide grin as Andrés pulls him up, chuckling.</p><p>"Be careful. I wouldn't want to lose my best friend just because he refuses to walk like a normal person," Andrés murmurs and Sergio thinks <em> what the fuck is that tone, does he realize how soft he sounds.<br/></em></p><p>"You wouldn't want normal anyway," is what Martín says. Sergio's jaw almost hits the pavement at that. They're absolutely hopeless. He's never paid attention, but that's what they are.<br/><br/></p><p> </p><p>Sunday is a good day for Sergio. First of all, Martín finally does the laundry, although he unceremoniously dumps the clothes onto Sergio's and Andrés' respective beds, stating that <em> he's not a housewife that would iron and fold their rags, fuck you very much. <br/></em></p><p>Second of all, Beatriz calls Andrés right before dinner and she goes on a rampage about her friend, apparently, screwing her over and making a scene about Beatriz appearing on her doorstep, allegedly unannounced.</p><p>Andrés puts the phone on the table, looking endlessly bored, Beatriz' voice a muffled stream of high-pitched ranting. Martín watches him, amused. At some point, he starts making faces, and Andrés smirks up at him, raising his eyebrows.</p><p><em> Score, </em> Sergio thinks to himself and retreats to his room to work on the plan.<br/><br/></p><p> </p><p>On Monday, Raquel sits with him during lunch.</p><p>"So," she says, looking to the side, as if slightly nervous, "I had fun during the fair."</p><p>"Uh, yeah," Sergio manages and curses himself for not being more eloquent. "Me too, is what I mean."</p><p>"Good! Good. So, I was thinking… do you want to maybe go grab a coffee?"</p><p>He stares at her, at the flushed cheeks, at her serious, honest eyes, at the small crease between her eyebrows; at the ring in her nose, a tiny sign that says she's kind of a rebel.</p><p>"Of course! I should've offered first, but I wasn't really sure-"</p><p>"It's okay," Raquel smiles. "Without your brother and his boyfriend this time, though?"</p><p>Thank God Sergio wasn't eating his pasta because he would've choked. Instead, he just stares, his brain working on high speed. First of all, he was right. Second of all, what should he do? Raquel <em> is </em> the smartest person he knows, besides Andrés and Martín, and she does like playing games, from what he knows…</p><p>"How about a double date?" he offers and she frowns, visibly taken aback. Sergio just grins.</p><p>"The thing is, neither Andrés nor his boyfriend know they're dating yet."</p><p>Slowly, Raquel's face lights up with a grin of her own. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank y'all so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks. It means the world to me.</p><p>Get ready for more coffee, strong language and a good load of pining - it's Martín's POV!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martín watches in wonder as Sergio finishes his speech. </p><p>"So, I really, <em> really </em>like her, and I don't want to mess it up, and I need your help."</p><p>There's something stinky about that, but Martín can't pinpoint exactly what it is. Next to him, Andrés hums, stretching out in his chair.</p><p>"What exactly do you want us to do here, <em> hermanito?</em>" </p><p>"Uh-... a double date."</p><p>Martín is sure he must've misheard. Andrés probably assumes the same, because he tilts his head to the side. </p><p>"Pardon? As in, with Beatriz?" </p><p>"No, as in-... with Martín. Look, it's not that big of a deal," Sergio starts talking faster now, clearly nervous, and Martín's fried brain struggles to follow. "Raquel may have assumed that the two of you were a couple and I sort of, well, failed to correct her, and she proposed that the four of us could go out, and I swear I'll fix it later, but for now, maybe you could go and, you know, help me out?" </p><p><em> The fuck</em>, Martín thinks, because something definitely doesn't add up here. The Sergio he knows would have hated for either him or Andrés to get into his personal matters. Then, on the other hand, maybe he's just so desperately in love… No, it still doesn't make much sense. </p><p>What makes <em> some </em>sense, now, is how Andrés throws his head back and laughs, a beacon of normality in this whole farce, because of course he would find the idea hilarious. Martín shakes his head and goes for a sip of the coffee he was supposed to carry to some poor fucker before Sergio stopped him. </p><p>"Of course, Sergio. Anything for you," is what Andrés says next and Martín spits out his - well, not really <em> his</em>, although he <em> did </em>make it - coffee all over the table, making a few heads turn. </p><p>"<em>What</em>?" </p><p>Andrés turns to him with a grin and Martín feels like an idiot, rubbing at his mouth with his apron. </p><p>"Do you have a problem with that, Martín? I think it would be fine to do it just once. Besides, when was the last time you've gone on a date?" his tone is warm and pleasant, as if he isn't being a nasty, mean bastard. </p><p>"I don't do <em> dates,</em>" Martín snarls, getting up with the intention to clean the table, make another coffee and finally carry it to the guy who's already paid for it. Then maybe get his number and possibly sleep with him. Martín is great with customers. </p><p>Before he can move, he's stopped by a hand - <em> Andrés</em>' hand, and so his heart skips a beat - grabbing his wrist. </p><p>Andrés glances off to the side and Martín follows his gaze to Sergio, who looks pleading. Martín narrows his eyes in suspicion because there's <em> no fucking way</em>-</p><p>But Andrés' fingers are warm against his skin, so he gives in, lets out a loud sigh and nods. </p><p>"Alright, alright. <em> Fine. </em>When and where?" </p><p>Andrés lets go of him, sadly, as Sergio clears his throat. </p><p>"I was thinking we could grab a coffee tomorrow after school."</p><p>"<em>Sergio</em>," Andrés rolls his eyes. "I told you that I was supposed to take <em> milady </em>out for a shopping spree tomorrow."</p><p>"Can't you reschedule?" Sergio frowns at him. "Beatriz isn't exactly a very busy person, while Raquel has gym on most weekdays <em> and </em>weekends."</p><p>Martín gapes at that, then grins. </p><p>"Ohhh, she's <em> buff, </em>Sergio? Didn't know you were into that!" he exclaims, and the poor boy actually blushes. Truth is, Sergio likes exercise too, and he's decidedly in a better shape than either Martín or Andrés, because they both are lazy as fuck, but still, a chance to tease him is never lost on Martín. </p><p>"She sounds charming," Andrés says. "And of course, I will teach you anything there is to know about romance. Lesson number one: if you're forced to reschedule by your nuisance of a younger brother, send flowers as an apology."</p><p>Martín rolls his eyes at that and finally goes back to work. Mirko might just forgive him for slacking off, but Ágata, whose shift starts soon, certainly won't.</p><p>He keeps glancing at the two brothers, though, as he prepares drinks and takes orders. Andrés is talking to Sergio, clearly schooling him on the subject of wooing women, and poor Sergio looks like he wishes the earth would open and swallow him. Martín feels a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. </p><p>Everything good in his life began when he met Andrés. He was eighteen, playing his guitar on the streets of Madrid in the summer after his high school graduation. He wanted to earn money, to get away from his father and rent a flat on his own. One evening, this handsome, dark-eyed devil stopped and listened to him. Then the next evening, and the next. Finally, he stayed until Martín was done for the night, and had to catch the last train to the - admittedly nasty - suburbs, where he lived with his dad. Andrés stopped him. <em> Have a drink with me</em>, he said, <em> you can stay over at my place.  </em></p><p>Martín, enamored by the stranger, not careful by nature, agreed. It was the best decision of his life. His loveless mother back in Argentina, his asshole of a father, the homophobic pieces of shit at school, the beatings, the fights, the self-hatred and the hatred for others, all of it didn't matter anymore, because Andrés saw something in him. He saw something in him and they became fast friends, and then Andrés said <em> this is Sergio</em>, and Sergio was fifteen, almost as frustrated by his peers from school and teachers as Martín had been, smart and frustrated, what was there not to like? By the end of summer, Andrés said <em> stay with us, you can find a half-time job, then we'll split the rent.  </em></p><p>Martín never felt close to his actual family, never felt accepted by them. Andrés and Sergio, though, became his family. <em> Decided </em>to be his family. Martín's never been happier. </p><p>That's why he would never make a move on Andrés, even though he loves him more than anything. As a friend, yes, but also he has a big fat crush on him. How could he not? </p><p>He watches as Andrés grins, one corner of his lips going higher than the other, his smile lopsided, playful. </p><p>"Martín, you've been pouring hot water into the americano for two whole minutes now. There's no espresso left in it."</p><p>He twitches and stops pressing the button, looking up to see Ágata, already in an apron, raising an eyebrow at him. Mirko looks worried behind her back. </p><p>"Do I need to throw him out for you to focus?" she asks and Martín gasps in offense. </p><p>"You wouldn't <em> dare</em>," he hisses, but Ágata only rolls her eyes at him. The three of them have been working together for so long that they're no longer impressed by Martín's theatrics. It's annoying. </p><p>"Beer tomorrow?" Ágata asks, ushering Mirko out of the way to take his place behind the counter. They both look at Martín expectedly. </p><p>"I can't," he says, preparing another americano. "I have a fake date."</p><p>"... I'm not even going to ask."</p><p> </p><p>The next day, Martín can't focus in class. He keeps thinking that he's going to have <em> a date </em>with Andrés. Well, a fake one. A double one, with two teenagers, but. Still. </p><p>Near the end of his last lecture, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out and his heart skips a beat, like he's some dumb girl going out for the first time. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>From: Andrés ;p</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Waiting outside to pick you up. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>What a <em> gentleman</em>. Martín suddenly decides that he doesn't give a fuck about thermodynamics after all. He grabs his notes and shoves them into his bag before slipping out of his seat. </p><p>"Sorry, I have an emergency," he throws in the general direction of his professor and runs to the door, then down the corridor, down the stairs and finally, outside. He takes a deep inhale of the fresh, autumn air and grins when he sees Andrés. </p><p>"Hey."</p><p>Andrés smirks at him. </p><p>"Weren't you supposed to be done in twenty minutes or so?" he teases, but Martín just shrugs. </p><p>"Eh, I already know more than anyone from my class. Thermodynamics is child's play."</p><p>"My, my, aren't you smart," Andrés clicks his tongue and then, purses his lips, looking down at Martín's clothes. "This won't do. If you want to play my boyfriend, you have to dress accordingly. Thankfully, I took the time to get you something."</p><p>Before Martín can react to being criticized for his fashion choices as well as to hearing the word <em> boyfriend </em> leave Andrés' mouth, and directed at <em> him</em>, a shopping bag is being pushed into his hands. </p><p>"What the fuck?"</p><p>Classy. Really classy. </p><p>Andrés scowls and pulls him towards the building.</p><p>"Go and change in the bathroom before we go. It's great quality, you'll like it," he says and Martín doesn't really have a choice, now does he? </p><p>He goes to change.</p><p>The clothes Andrés picked out for him turn out to be, well, fucking amazing, to be honest. Martín has never paid much attention to the way he dressed, not because he didn't have, say, fashion preferences, but because he never had the money. So he just settled for cheap and comfy. </p><p>He's surprised to find a pair of jeans instead of expected dress pants, a black leather belt that he knows belongs to Andrés, a plain white t-shirt and a kimono-style black jacket that feels quite exquisite between his fingers.</p><p>"Did you fucking steal this?" he calls from the stall and Andrés answers with a laugh. </p><p>"Not the clothes, no. But I might have picked up the shoes during my last job. They're your size, I believe."</p><p>Martín takes one look at the shoes at the bottom of the bag and he flings the stall door open. </p><p>"You got me Dr. Martens oxfords?!" </p><p>Andrés grins at him, hands in his pockets.</p><p>"You may pretend you don't care for fashion, but I know what you like. Also, I know what looks good on you."</p><p>Martín finds himself grinning right back, warmth spilling somewhere in his chest. Andrés <em> does know. </em>He puts on the shoes, shoves his clothes into the bag and takes one look in the mirror, judging that he looks fucking spectacular. Everybody else can go home. </p><p>Andrés stands next to him, black dress pants and suit jacket, with a white turtleneck underneath it; they look good together. Like they could burn down everything they touch.</p><p>"Ready to be my date for the day?" Andrés asks and offers him a hand. Martín gathers up his sanity, pride and composure and takes it, nodding. </p><p>Martín only realizes that he's left his old shoes in the bathroom when they're halfway to the café where they're supposed to meet with Sergio and his girl. He finds that he doesn't care. He has new ones.</p><p> </p><p>The place they've chosen is near the campus, a coffeeshop that's, obviously, not as great as <em>Dalí's</em>, but fuck him if he would ever agree to do a double date <em> there. </em> This place is nice, too, he thinks as they step into the loft. <em> Industrial </em> and <em> alternative</em>, it seems to scream at them, and fuck if they don't fit in with the way they're dressed.</p><p>When Sergio spots them, his expression suggests that he doesn't share their enthusiasm regarding their looks, but the poor fucker dresses like a forty year old virgin, so his opinion doesn't matter in the slightest. </p><p>The girl - <em> Raquel</em>, Martín remembers - looks a mixture of confused and unimpressed, with the way she raises an eyebrow at them. </p><p>"You do realize that this is a very casual hangout, right?" she asks, making Sergio snort. She glances at him. "You don't have the right to laugh, you're wearing a dress shirt, too. Unbelievable."</p><p>Martín laughs at the way Sergio smoothes down his shirt, suddenly embarrassed, the tips of his ears turning pink. </p><p>"Raquel, I can see you're a tough one. Good. Very pleased to meet you," says Andrés, leaning down to kiss her hand. Normally, girls would swoon over it, but Raquel just gives him a tight smile. </p><p>"Andrés, right?" </p><p>"In the flesh. Now, I believe you've already had the luck to catch a glimpse of my boyfriend at the fair."</p><p><em> Luck. Boyfriend. </em>Martín doesn't have the time to scream in his head, because suddenly, Andrés' arm is around him. Around his waist, that is. Not his shoulders. His waist. </p><p>Now, Martín is a very independent individual. He's had to deal with everything on his own ever since he was a little kid. And he managed <em> just fine. </em>With Andrés, however-</p><p>Andrés appreciates him like no one else before. Andrés is <em> good </em> to him, Andrés <em> knows </em> him, as Martín knows Andrés. To feel like he <em> belongs </em> to him, with the way his hand feels on his ribs, his arm behind his back, as he's dressed, no, <em> dolled up </em> in clothes that Andrés has picked out for him, hearing him say <em> my boyfriend</em>… </p><p>"Hi," he says and thank <em> fuck </em>that his voice still works somehow. Raquel's lips twitch a little at that, as if she were amused.</p><p>"Take a seat, Martín, do you want a flat white?" Andrés asks, as charming as if Martín were one of his girls. </p><p>He doesn't mind all that much. He nods and joins the kids at the table.</p><p>When Andrés comes back, he sits down next to him and puts an arm at the back of his chair. Oh, it does feel lovely.</p><p>"So," Raquel looks between the two of them once they get their drinks, "how did you two meet?" </p><p>"He picked me off the streets like a stray," Martín grins. It's true. Kind of. Sergio snorts and shakes his head, but before he can say anything, Andrés begins to speak. </p><p>"What Martín meant to say was that he's been playing his guitar near <em> Plaza Mayor </em> and when I saw him, I was instantly enamored. He was so focused and relaxed at the same time," Andrés smiles. Somehow, he sounds absolutely sincere. <em> Martín himself </em>could be fooled. "Maybe you'll get him to play you something one day, it's a true marvel. Art in motion."</p><p>"How romantic," Raquel smiles easily. She glances at Sergio. "Neither of us really has a thing for arts. Remember how Señora Hernandez forced us to interpret a poem via painting?" </p><p>Sergio sighs, nodding. </p><p>"Dreadful," he says. </p><p>"Sergio can be artistic, though," Andrés chimes in. He taps his fingers against Martín's shoulder, making him nod eagerly. </p><p>"Oh, yeah, he can! He does origami. Lots of it, actually."</p><p>Raquel looks at Sergio with wide eyes. </p><p>"You can do that? Nice!" </p><p>It's endlessly amusing - and adorable, even- to see the blush on the boy's cheeks. It's good to see him getting some attention and getting along with someone who isn't Andrés or Martín. </p><p>"Yeah," he murmurs, fixing his glasses. "When I'm focusing on a problem, or when I'm nervous, it helps a lot. It's very structured, precise. I like it."</p><p>"Well, would you teach me? Finding something to do with your hands seems relaxing."</p><p>Martín stops listening. Instead, he looks at Andrés and sends him a smile, receiving one back instantly. Score. They're great at supporting Sergio's blossoming relationship. </p><p>The date goes surprisingly smoothly. Martín quickly gets used to being closer to Andrés than usual, and he enjoys seeing Sergio at ease, talking more than he normally would. He decides he likes Raquel, too - she's confident, honest, has a nice, sarcastic side and is really smart, not like this one other girl Martín just so happens to know.</p><p>He gets to talk about engineering, too, when Raquel starts asking questions about his studies. At some point, Andrés puts a hand at the nape of his neck, seemingly beaming with pride. </p><p>"Can you imagine he aces all of his classes while also keeping a job at a coffeeshop?" </p><p>"I can," Raquel grins. "And you, Andrés? Where is it that you work?" </p><p>Ohhh, game time. Martín exchanges a look with Sergio and they both smirk as Andrés straightens up a little.</p><p>"Real estate agency. Just last week, there was this beautiful house…" </p><p>Andrés has the amazing ability to craft up stories out of nowhere and make them sound believable. As he talks, Martín and Sergio can barely keep their faces straight. </p><p>Out of all the games they play - Monopoly, Scrabble, chess, poker, Jenga - this one is their favourite. Martín knows what Andrés does for a living. Sergio, officially, doesn't, although he does realize that it's shady and he doesn't seem to mind all that much. He trusts his older brother with his life.</p><p>Now, from time to time they make small talk, asking Andrés about his job. Every single time, he comes up with a different one. On Monday, he's a risk analyst, on Thursday, an attorney, a week later - a yoga instructor. He always answers with a straight face, throws in some details about the job as Sergio and Martín nod solemnly. It's hilarious.</p><p>"What is it that you want to do after high school, Raquel?" Andrés asks once he's done with his tale, and he takes a bite of his cheesecake. </p><p>"I want to get a degree in psychology and then, hopefully, get through the police recruitment system to become an officer," she says.</p><p>Andrés nearly chokes on the cheesecake and Martín has to hide his face against his shoulder in order not to laugh out loud. </p><p>"Are you two okay?" he hears Raquel ask and laughs more when Andrés answers, somehow managing to save himself:</p><p>"Absolutely. I'm just hoping my brother doesn't do anything to offend you, since I'm sure you would seek justice."</p><p> </p><p>Once the date is over, Sergio decides to walk Raquel home. Martín believes he might be picking up some of Andrés' <em> gentleman </em>guidelines after all.</p><p>"I'm going to drop by <em>Dalí's</em>, I think," Martín says once him and Andrés are alone. "Maybe there's some food that haven't sold out and I'll get to take it home."</p><p>"I'll go and work on a painting, then. Don't forget to get me something sweet, though," Andrés grins and Martín nudges him as they start walking, Martín's workplace and their home being roughly in the same direction. </p><p>"You'll get diabetes."</p><p>They're not holding hands anymore, which is a pity, but still, Martín is glad for everything he's been already blessed with. </p><p> </p><p>When Martín walks into the coffee shop, he's greeted by Ágata nearly screeching. She puts away the coffee beans she's been pouring into the grinder and hurries over to take a good look at him. </p><p>"<em>Cariño, </em>but you look hot as fuck!" she says and he can't help but lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his chin out. </p><p>"I know," he says and earns a slap to his arm. </p><p>"Was it for the fake date? It was with Andrés, wasn't it? I swear to God, you're pretty, but dumb. You'll only hurt yourself like that."</p><p>"What was I supposed to do then, refuse?" Martín snorts. "That would have been suspicious."</p><p>Ágata eyes him for a moment, clearly not too happy with Martín's - admittedly, a little self-destructive - behavior. </p><p>She's younger than him, but she's definitely the mother hen type. The kind that unofficially adopts all of her friends and gives disapproving looks whenever someone does something exceptionally dumb. The kind who also offers a lot of warmth and comfort. </p><p>Martín likes her and it is funny to get an earful from her from time to time, but he's never had much of a mother and he doesn't need one now. </p><p>"Do we have anything I can take home?" he asks. </p><p>Ágata sighs and starts counting out things that haven't sold out and can't be but on sale tomorrow. </p><p>"Give me two- no, three sandwiches. The one with pesto and mozzarella, the grilled turkey, and the weird cheese-cranberry-walnuts combo that Andrés likes."</p><p>"<em>The Italian</em>,<em> the American</em> and <em>the French</em>, you dumbass, will you ever learn our card?" </p><p>"Well, not until they listen to my request and add an <em>Argentinean</em>, so that when asked about it, I could just give the hot guys my number."</p><p>Ágata throws him a look as she puts the sandwiches into a paper bag. </p><p>"You really should find yourself a boyfriend," she says, handing him the food. Martín only grins. </p><p>"Thanks, but I'm good."</p><p>He's about to walk out, but then he stops and stares at the vitrine filled with various cakes and sweets offered by the café. He sighs, pulling out his wallet. </p><p>"Give me a red velvet muffin, too."</p><p> </p><p>Martín prides himself in being the only person allowed in Andrés' studio, located in the attic above their little flat. He supposes that Sergio has broken in at least once, and that he's seen the stolen artwork that Andrés sometimes keeps there before he can meet up with whoever commissioned him with the theft. Still, Martín is the only one <em> officially </em>allowed there.</p><p>He likes the space. He likes seeing Andrés there, in the small room bathed in sunshine falling in through the skylight, surrounded by his paintings, sketches, buckets of paint, brushes kept in glass jars and arranged on wooden shelves. It's messy, it shows off that Andrés is not always composed; that there's a fire raging inside of him. </p><p>Martín walks in and grins when Andrés steps away from the painting - something abstractive, no doubt - and turns towards Martín, flashing him a smile of his own. The sun is going down and the strong, orange hue makes Andrés look like he's glowing, like he's surrounded by a halo. </p><p>God, if only Martín could paint. </p><p>"Sandwich? I got you that weird one."</p><p>"<em>Ohh, </em>absolutely," Andrés seems to realize that he's hungry. He takes the food from Martín's hand and bites into it, closing his eyes in pleasure, as if he was tasting the most exquisite meal. </p><p>If only Martín could paint.</p><p>"Want a smoke?" he asks instead after a moment and Andrés nods, putting the half-eaten sandwich away. </p><p>Martín opens one of the old cabinets in the studio. There are tubes of acrylics there, and old pencils, and bottles of turpentine oil and other solvents, the smell of which, for some unpleasant, makes Martín think of Andrés. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from behind one of the pencil cases and winks at Andrés before climbing out of the window and onto the rooftop. Andrés follows. </p><p>It's not exactly safe which only makes it all the nicer, the view is wonderful and the wind feels amazing against Martín's skin. They stretch out on the roof, Martín lights a cigarette and takes a drag before handing it to Andrés, his fingers brushing against Andrés', dirtied with paint. </p><p>Martín loves him. </p><p>It's not just a big fat crush, he honestly, absolutely, all-consumingly loves the man; the boy, really, Andrés, despite his attires, despite his behavior, despite his strength- is still only three years older than Martín, after all.</p><p>He amazes him, impresses him, enchants him; his confidence, his bite, his love for life. He's complicated and fascinating and yet, being with him is the easiest thing Martín has ever experienced. </p><p>They share the cigarette in silence before Andrés pulls himself up on his elbows. </p><p>"That Raquel. She would be good for him. Even if she wants to be a policewoman, bless her poor heart."</p><p>Martín snorts. </p><p>"Maybe she'll realize the system is rotten."</p><p>"Maybe."</p><p>A beat. </p><p>"Today was nice," Andrés says and gives him a smile, and Martín would throw himself off the roof, but that would mean he would have to stop looking at Andrés. So he doesn't; he returns the smile, instead. </p><p>"It was. You're a great boyfriend."</p><p>"Oh, I know," Andrés tilts his head back and closes his eyes. Martín studies him quietly - his pursed lips, sharp profile, the line of his throat. His fingertips itch to touch the tiny droplets of paint splattered on his cheek. </p><p>He turns his gaze away. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good day!</p><p>We're dipping into the waters of one Andrés de Fonollosa; a trip as dangerous as it is exciting.<br/>What's in this mystery man's head?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andrés watches, raising an eyebrow, as Martín steps into the apartment. He doesn't seem drunk or awfully hungover, but his eyes are reddened. They burn bright in his otherwise pale face. His hair is more tousled than usual, too, Andrés notes. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. </p><p>"Well, well, if it isn't the old, classic walk of shame I'm witnessing."</p><p>Martín glances at him, toeing off his shoes, leaning against the wall for support. </p><p>"I have an early class."</p><p>Andrés hums; decides to be nice, then. </p><p>"Take a shower. I'll make you some coffee."</p><p>Martín gives him a grateful if tired smile and goes to the bathroom. Andrés slips into the kitchen, starts making coffee; makes one for Sergio, too. When Martín comes back and curls up in the chair with the steaming mug in his hands, Andrés starts putting together some breakfast, observing him out of the corner of his eye. </p><p>He likes how vulnerable Martín is, he's always liked that. Even when he wants to hide, he cannot. His whole being overflows.</p><p>His back is hunched slightly, his head bowed, exposing the back of his neck. Andrés' gaze travels from the damp hair down to where droplets of water are dripping from the strands and running down, disappearing under the loose collar of his t-shirt. </p><p>Andrés spots a hickey on the side of his neck and a smirk tugs on his lips. It's good to know Martín gets to have some fun since whatever deal he's had with that Serb from work has ended. Now, Andrés definitely prefers him sleeping around from time to time than having sex with one person exclusively. For a moment, it felt like Dragic wanted to steal Martín away and that- no, that would be unacceptable. </p><p>He leaves Martín and his disgusting, milky coffee alone in the kitchen, then, and goes to drag Sergio out of his room to make sure he'll get to school. Now, Andrés has decided on a different lifestyle, yes, he's had some particular interests, but something tells him that any reasonable parent would make their kid graduate from high school just to give them a chance to really pick and choose out of many possible paths. </p><p>Besides, Martín enjoys his studies. Sergio surely will as well, if he decides to attend university.</p><p>He finds his brother with his nose buried in a book, stretched out on the bed, which isn't weird in and out of itself, but the title of the book draws Andrés' attention. </p><p>"<em>Notes for a bisexual revolution</em>? Sergio, you barely get your first girlfriend and you're already trying to explore other options?" he grins and then laughs when Sergio jumps at the sound of his voice and slams the book closed. </p><p>"It's for my… biology homework," he mutters, his cheeks slightly flushed. </p><p>Andrés can't and won't let this go. He's an older brother, after all. </p><p>"Do you have a crush on Martín, maybe?" he jokes then and watches, delighted, as Sergio gapes at him before groaning and mushing his face against the pillow. </p><p>"Who has a crush on me?"</p><p>He hears Martín's voice behind his back and turns around to grin at him. </p><p>"Sergio does."</p><p>Martín mirrors his smile right away and steps closer, looking into the room. Sergio is giving them the finger, face still planted in the pillow.</p><p>"I always knew we had a sort of love-hate relationship," Martín nods. "But I'm sorry, Sergio, I only like older guys."</p><p>"Shouldn't you be in class?" Sergio says, his voice muffled. </p><p>"Shouldn't you be at school?" Martín retorts immediately.</p><p>Andrés shakes his head fondly. He knows that, despite his grumbling, Sergio likes Martín's company. Martín is only three years older than him, not six, like Andrés; he's closer to being his peer. And since Sergio doesn't really get along with many people at school, Martín is someone who forces him to entertain some form of human interaction. </p><p>"Both of you, out of the house. I have to get ready for the previously delayed date with <em>milady</em>," Andrés states finally. Martín goes to his room to get his bag and Andrés stays in the doorway, watching as Sergio gathers his things.</p><p>"Since we're on the subject," Sergio says, done packing books and standing before Andrés, shuffling his feet. "I kind of may have promised Raquel another date with you and Martín. She, uh, likes you, apparently? Anyway, this is the last time, I promise."</p><p>Andrés chuckles at his bashfulness, at how awkward he's being. Of course Raquel likes him and Martín, why wouldn't she? She's a smart girl, after all. It's impossible to have a functioning brain and not like them. No, <em> love </em>them. They're a stunning duo. </p><p>"<em>Pero c</em><em>laro</em>, <em> hermanito</em>, I'm in. Make sure to talk to Martín before you set it up, though."</p><p>To be honest, Andrés digs the whole gay vibe. First of all, no true friendship can ever exist without a little bit of sexual tension. </p><p>Second of all, most great artists were at least <em> a little </em> homosexual; art is infused with homoeroticism. Michelangelo? The gayest. The other two famous <em> Davids</em>, Donatello's and Verocchio's? Insanely gay. Da Vinci? Homosexual. Caravaggio? Researchers can't seem to agree upon that one, but Andrés has seen the way he's painted boys and he's not stupid. That's gay. </p><p>Finally, pretending to be homosexual makes him seem unapproachable, unattainable to women; poor girls can only admire his - and Martín's, for that matter - beauty from afar, wailing in despair for not being allowed to touch, as if they were idols, teenage idols or idols made of gold; sacred figurines. </p><p> </p><p>Martín and Sergio go to school, like all good kids should, and Andrés takes a shower and shaves; he dresses up, then, choosing black, polished shoes, black pants and socks, a white dress shirt, a black, slim tie and finally - a vest. He rolls up the sleeves, folding them carefully, and puts on a watch; adds a braided leather bracelet, too. Dressing up, to Andrés, is like a magic trick. The man looking back from the mirror with a smug smile seems older than Andrés is; twenty-eight, maybe thirty. Definitely not twenty-three. It's a good look on him. It matches his confidence and the role he's about to play.</p><p>He opens the drawer in his desk and pulls out a stack of banknotes; his last payment. He's getting better and better at his job. Not like it's hard - break in, get the artwork, escape. The alarms are a nuisance, though, and Andrés hates running. He can't wait for Martín to finish his studies and maybe, hopefully, help him out with any technical difficulties. </p><p>He smiles at the thought of Martín probably offering to blow up whatever obstacle they may be facing. Setting the world on fire seems like a reasonable career choice for the two of them. </p><p>Together, they would be able to steal less obscure works of art; they would reach for the famous ones. They would reach for the stars.</p><p>Andrés counts the money, takes a few hundredths and puts them in his wallet. His queen deserves all the attention she can get after being mercilessly ignored for Sergio's sake. </p><p> </p><p>Clara has been soft, naive and warm, like a lamb; if Andrés were to describe Beatriz with one word, he would say: dynamite. </p><p>She's waiting for him in front of the Centro Commercial Príncipe Pío, a huge shopping centre, her smartphone glued to her hand, one acrylic fingernail tapping against the white phone case.</p><p>Dressed in a short, tight white dress with long puffy sleeves, she could almost fool anyone into thinking she's an angel, and not a devil. Andrés knows better.</p><p>"Hello,<em> bella</em>," he purrs and puts his hands on her hips, marveling at how big his palms seem against her small frame. It's the one thing she has in common with Clara. Andrés likes his women fragile, delicate, <em> weak. </em>They can try and make up for it by yapping, but it never changes the fact that Andrés has them overpowered. </p><p>"Andrés," Beatriz smiles sweetly, pressing close to him. He cups her cheek, then pushes some of her intentionally messy brown hair back to take a good look at her. </p><p>What a pretty picture she makes. Beatriz doesn't care about art, paintings bore her, but oh, if she isn't a painting and a painter herself; lipstick, blush, bronzer, lashes, eyeliner, all of it creates an illusion of absolute perfection.</p><p>The thing that Andrés likes most about her, however, is a little detail; it's not her hazel eyes or her small nose or her full lips. No, he likes her eyebrows, naturally thick, making her look raw, serious; like an exotic goddess.</p><p>"Careful, handsome," she says, pulling away from his hand. "Don't smudge it. I need to take a bunch of pics today."</p><p> </p><p>Every date with Beatriz feels just a little bit like a threeway - it's her, Andrés and her phone. It's not surprising and Andrés is mostly at peace with it, because the girl has a very successful Instagram account, although Andrés isn't really sure what is it that she does with it besides posting pictures of herself, her shopping hauls, food and drinks. He understands how it might be appealing to the miserable peasants, though, attracted by the illusion like moths to a flame, believing that others' lives are inherently better than their own. For those people, Beatriz is like a dream. Andrés managed to capture that dream, though, capricious as it may be.</p><p>They walk around the centre, illuminated by bright lights, filled with people; the avenues and shops are mostly sterile and soulless, but the building itself is quite beautiful. Martín would probably start gushing about adapting old spaces for modern necessities. A contemporary monstrosity, festering inside of a carcass of a railway station. <em> How romantic</em>, Andrés thinks, looking up at the huge clock towering above the centre.</p><p>He's pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Beatriz' heels clicking against the tiles. She grabs his hand and pulls him towards another boutique. </p><p>Andrés likes the little private show of watching her try on clothes; she can pull off almost anything, and whenever he has the money, he's willing to pay for his favourites just to have her dress up in them when they go out. Andrés may not have a steady income, but he would rather starve than let anyone see him as anything but glamorous.</p><p>His father may have disowned him and thrown him out of the family home - it's not like Andrés ever <em> wanted </em>to stay there and become another heartless banker anyway - but class is something inherent and illusions are easy to create.</p><p>"How are things at work?" Beatriz asks when she's done taking a hundred and one pictures in the tall mirror next to the dressing rooms. </p><p>Andrés doesn't really have it in him to try and remember the last lie he's told her. He wonders briefly if she'll catch on if he comes up with something completely ridiculous. </p><p>"Oh, you know. The students are insufferable; you'd think that UCM would live up to its fame, but it doesn't, not really."</p><p>She only hums in response, looking through another pile of clothes, and Andrés sighs. What a disappointment. He sprawls out on the couch near the dressing room, fully intent on sulking. </p><p>His interest in her is back for a moment when Beatriz calls him over to help her zip up a dress, but when he starts pressing kisses to her exposed neck instead and makes a charming offer to fuck her in the dressing room, the insufferable woman outright refuses him.</p><p>Andrés makes no comment; the idea is thrilling and he would rather she appreciated it, but he's not some brute who would take her against her will. That would be unbecoming of a gentleman. It's fine. </p><p> </p><p>What is not fine, however, is when they go get drinks after the hours spent in the shopping centre and Beatriz asks him - not for the first time - to take a selfie with her. </p><p>"No," he says simply, decidedly, but Beatriz narrows her eyes at him and doesn't let go, like an angry chihuahua that got a hold of someone's pant leg. </p><p>"Andrés, you know what I do, I've explained to you a million times how the whole <em> influencer </em> business functions. The <em> mysterious boyfriend </em>trope works only for a while until people start accusing you of being fake."</p><p>She might have explained it a million times, but Andrés does not care and therefore, he's never listened.</p><p>"What does it matter? We're together in the real life, that's what's important," he says patiently, going for a romantic, true-love vibe. </p><p>It's a miss. </p><p>"You're like, ten years behind," Beatriz rolls her eyes, clutching her phone and waving it in front of his face. "<em>This </em>is real now, too. What difference does it make, anyway? Can you give me one good reason why you don't want to show your face?" </p><p>
  <em> I'm a criminal. I can't have my face anywhere on the Internet, with people close to me; it would be a way to track me down.  </em>
</p><p>He can't tell her that. That was why Clara left; well, it was <em> one </em>of the reasons, for sure, most probably the final straw. Clara was <em>too</em> weak. He can't know for sure what would Beatriz' reaction be. Maybe she'd call him a fraud, not understanding his greatness, not understanding that by buying her clothes with money made from stealing, by snatching some pretty things off of shelves during their shopping, he's chasing glory, he's cheating the system.</p><p>She wouldn't understand that this, too, is art. </p><p>"I don't want to," he says, then, and Beatriz is fuming. </p><p>"Sure, because I have to be your arm candy, but you refuse to be mine," she snaps, the sound of her voice slowly starting to give Andrés a headache. </p><p>"Stop being difficult."</p><p>"<em>I'm </em>being difficult?! You're the one who can't give me one good reason-" </p><p>"You're yelling in public. You've refused me an exciting experience in a dressing room because you didn't want to embarrass yourself and now, look, that's exactly what you're doing with your whining."</p><p>He's calm, but his temples are pounding at this point. Beatriz gasps, offended; Andrés can see she's about to talk more, maybe even scream. He won't give her a chance to do that. </p><p>"It's not up for discussion," he says, getting up reaching for his drink. </p><p>"Where the hell do you think you are going?" she hisses. </p><p>"Home."</p><p>Andrés gulps down the last of his whiskey and puts the glass back on the table, maybe with a little bit more force than necessary.</p><p>"I'm surprised you haven't moved out yet."</p><p>Oh, Beatriz doesn't know when to stop. Andrés presses his lips into a thin line. </p><p>"That place is so pitiful, it doesn't suit you. I know you're only staying there because otherwise, Martín wouldn't be able to afford the rent," she continues, Martín's name sour on her lips, and Andrés clenches his fists. </p><p>It's partially true, but he's fond of the apartment, too. Besides, it's not like he can save a lot of money when he's spending so much of it on Beatriz' whims.</p><p>"I'm staying there, whether you like it or not," he snaps. "You can call me when you're done being hysterical."</p><p>With that, he leaves, ignoring Beatriz spitting out curses; God, does his head hurt. He catches a tram and rests his temple against the cold glass of the window, closing his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>His headache, sadly, isn't gone when he gets home. He takes off his vest and throws it onto the couch and then, hears the sounds of Martín's guitar coming from his room. </p><p>Andrés knocks twice and doesn't even wait for an answer before walking in. Martín is stretched out on the mattress that serves him as a bed, with his back against the wall, the guitar in his lap. There's an open textbook next to him, which means he's not actually playing, but <em> studying</em>, the instrument only a way to keep his hands busy. </p><p>Martín often does that and Andrés is glad for it, because he knows that otherwise, he would be biting his fingernails and the skin around them. Andrés knows the urge, he nibbles at his hands a lot, too, but Martín is worse when it comes to it. His hands are a mess, generally; burns and cuts from the coffee shop, callouses from the strings of his guitar, broken skin near his nails. </p><p>Still, Andrés likes them. </p><p>Martín looks up at him as he enters and smiles instantly, tilting his head to the side.</p><p>"My head hurts," Andrés says, kneeling down on the mattress. Martín puts away the guitar, letting him lie down next to him. When Andrés presses his cheek against his thigh, Martín's hand comes to rest on his forehead, sheltering his eyes from the light; it's comforting. It's just what he needs. </p><p>Finding Martín was one of the best thing to ever happen to him. It was destiny, surely; the way he caught his attention, the way those rough, firm hands ran so elegantly over the guitar strings, the way Martín swayed a little to the sound, his brow creased in concentration.</p><p>Andrés remembers everything about that night when he decided to take him out for a drink. Martín was looking out of place, even if the bar was nowhere near as exclusive as Andrés would have wanted it to be. The boy was barely eighteen, wearing jeans that were washed-out and torn out of use, not due to some fashion trends. Andrés remembers that his shirt was green, that his eyes were blue, that his smile was bright and his arms - skinny.</p><p>He remembers how he offered Martín a place to sleep, how he offered to share the bed, since the couch was uncomfortable to sleep on and Andrés was nothing if not a gracious host. How Martín has flushed, his gaze burning, his muscles tensing up in a fight or flight response as he said: <em> you should know I'm gay.  </em></p><p>It didn't matter. Andrés told him that as long as Martín wasn't going to try and harass him, they would be fine. They haven't slept that night, anyway; instead, they stared at the ceiling, talking in hushed voices until morning. </p><p>It must have been destiny, with the way they understood each other, even without words, with how well they fit into the free space in their lives. They were exactly what the other needed - a friend.</p><p>Andrés loves Sergio and he would do anything for him, but taking in a kid at the age of nineteen was a challenge. He never regretted it, not really, but even though they grew very close, Andrés still had to stay his older brother, his guardian, his step-parent, almost, and it was a responsibility. There were textbooks to be bought, and food to be made, and kids that needed to be taught a lesson, and secrets to hide.</p><p>Having Martín around has helped a lot, has lifted a lot of weight from Andrés' shoulder. Martín is his safe haven, caring for Andrés just as much as Andrés does for him. They support each other, they come to each other for comfort, for quiet, but also-</p><p>Around Martín, Andrés can act his age. He can be playful, and stupid, and carefree. He can be as he likes, without worrying about appearances, about being an adult. </p><p>Finally, Martín knows about his jobs. He knows and he <em> understands. </em> Not only that, he openly <em> admires </em> Andrés for being able to steal like that, Martín calls it <em> elegant, </em> calls it <em> beautiful</em>. He has a weak spot for art, too. </p><p>"What are you studying?" Andrés murmurs after a moment of simply enjoying the touch. </p><p>When Martín speaks, his voice is carefully crafted into a thing of softness, meant to soothe. </p><p>"At the moment? A thing called <em> superconductivity</em>. You know, you can create magnets that both pull in and push away, making the metal hover above the magnet. It <em> levitates</em>, Andrés," he laughs quietly, delighted by the idea. "Just like that."</p><p>He removes his hand from Andrés' forehead, lets it stay above, just shy of touching. Andrés frowns, pouts and grumbles, and the fingers are back against his temple. </p><p>They rest like that, with Martín talking in a hushed tone about currents and quantum mechanics. He makes it sound like art, like poetry, he makes it sound easy and beautiful. Andrés thinks that Martín could do anything; he could be an engineer, a teacher, an artist, a thief, a preacher. He could be a healer, perhaps, because the headache slowly disappears. </p><p>"Acrylics and oils," Andrés says at some point and Martín goes quiet. He doesn't ask, but Andrés can feel his gaze on him and he smirks. </p><p>"Acrylic and oil paints don't mix, and if you apply acrylic over oil, it's a disaster, it flakes upon drying. If you do it the other way around, however, and correctly, it's quite beautiful."</p><p>"Will you show me sometime?" </p><p>"Sure. Not tonight though, I have a meeting with a potential client. You know, for the insurance company."</p><p>"Mm, yes. How is your boss doing? Already left her husband for you?" </p><p>"Oh, no, not yet. The middle life crisis will hit all the harder, though, once she realizes I'm not going to give her what she needs either."</p><p>To be honest, Andrés has no idea how does Martín keep up with his stories and remember which anecdotes apply to which jobs. It's impressive, really. </p><p>Martín chuckles, his hand going to Andrés' hair. </p><p>They both look up when they hear three quick knocks, which mean it's Sergio. </p><p>"No worries, I'm not indecent," Martín calls and the door opens, revealing Sergio staring down at a piece of paper with a frown on his face. </p><p>"For the last time, Martín," he says. "You can't just put beer on the grocery list and expect me to get it for you, they won't sell me alcohol." </p><p>"Sorry," Martín laughs wholeheartedly. "You're growing up so fast and you're so tall, I keep forgetting that you're still a baby little kitten."</p><p>Sergio looks up and opens his mouth to retort, but his eyes go from Martín to Andrés and suddenly, a miracle: his lips stretch out in a wide grin. He stands like that, shopping list in one hand, staring at them with the widest smile.</p><p>"Sergio?"</p><p>The boy blinks and shakes his head, going back to the usual frowny face. </p><p>"Nothing, I just- remembered a text I got from Raquel."</p><p>Andrés smiles softly. What a lovesick puppy. </p><p>"I'll go get groceries with you, then," Martín says slowly, his eyes narrowed in suspicion the reason behind which remains a mystery to Andrés. </p><p>"No, no, it's fine, you'll just have to remember to buy yourself some drinks later," Sergio waves a hand. Then, he looks at Andrés. "Speaking of remembering, did you pay the rent?" </p><p>"Not… yet."</p><p>"For fuck's sake, Andrés!" </p><p>"Watch your language, young man!" Andrés points a finger at him, smirking when Sergio flushes. </p><p>"<em>What?!</em>" he exclaims. "You keep Martín around the house and you're telling <em> me </em>not to curse?" </p><p>Martín sits up abruptly. </p><p>"What do you mean, <em> keep me around the house, </em>the fuck am I, a stray cat?!" </p><p>"See? My point exactly!" </p><p>Andrés grins. He leans back and listens to them bantering; it's better than reality tv. </p><p>He's glad to be keeping them both. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To quote my dear friend Shotgun_Cake, who of course guessed what was going to happen: Avengers Assemble !</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Saturday, Martín has an early shift at <em> Dalí's </em> and Andrés is hanging around the apartment with Beatriz, with whom he'd made up after yet another argument. So, a bad morning overall for Sergio. Texting Raquel about their plan is making it a little bit better, though.</p><p>"Aw, look at his smile, Beatriz. Are you talking to Raquel?" Andrés looks at him as he walks out of his room, phone in hand. </p><p>Beatriz pauses Netflix and pulls herself up from where she was resting against Andrés' chest to look at Sergio, who presses his lips into a thin line, slipping his phone back into his pocket. </p><p>"Do you have a girlfriend, Sergio?" she asks, pursing her lips. She's wearing dark lipstick, almost black, and Sergio honestly finds that terrifying. "Aren't you too young for that?" </p><p>Sergio stares.</p><p>"I'm seventeen."</p><p>Beatriz' eyes widen, the fake lashes threatening to take flight. </p><p>"You are? Aw, I was sure you were fourteen," she says, prompting Andrés to laugh as if it were a joke. Now, Sergio knows that if <em> Martín </em>were to say this, it would be a joke, but Beatriz? No, she's being serious. </p><p>Clara at least paid <em> some </em>attention and had a certain amount of respect for him, even though she was rather dull. Beatriz is definitely not dull, but God, at what price. </p><p>Sergio doesn't have it in him to argue. He puts on his shoes, watching out of the corner of his eye as Beatriz tries to take a photo of the tv screen while also including - no doubt, <em> aesthetically </em> - hers and Andrés' feet stretched out on the table. <em> Hashtag boyfriend</em>. </p><p>"I'm going to have to edit this so much," she complains. "This flat is such a disaster."</p><p>Andrés ignores her comment and looks at Sergio instead. </p><p>"Where are you off to?" </p><p>"<em>Dalí's</em>. I need to study."</p><p>Well, not really, but Andrés doesn't have to know that.</p><p> </p><p>Sergio is glad to see that while Ágata has a shift with Martín, Mirko is in the coffeeshop as well, leaning against the counter with a cup of latte, talking to his friends. </p><p>"Little Sergio!" he beams when he sees him, and Martín turns around from where he's slicing up fruit for smoothies. </p><p>"Lovebirds at the apartment, I'm guessing?"</p><p>He seems unaffected, as usual. It's even more disturbing than if his words were dripping with bitterness as they should.</p><p>"Yeah," Sergio sighs. "Will you make me some coffee?" </p><p>"Sure," Martín nods, throwing some of the fruit into a blender and the rest into a container that he shoves into a fridge, closing it with a kick. "Just give me like, five years, this place is insane today- will somebody just change the fucking music, I can't stand this indie shit."</p><p>Martín is barking like an angry dog as he makes the smoothies and goes to carry them to the customers. Ágata rolls her eyes and gives Sergio a pointed look. </p><p>"Pay him no mind. He's been humming along to Kodaline all morning. <em> All I want </em>seems to be his favourite, which is quite telling if you ask me."</p><p>Sergio grins. </p><p>"Oh, I know. He sings Sam Smith in the shower," he says and both Ágata and Mirko burst out laughing. </p><p>"Promise me you won't tell him I said that," Sergio steps to the side to see Martín still at the very end of the café, looking dead inside as he listens to the customers who are probably ordering something more. Sergio turns back to the two baristas, then. "Look, I want to ask you something. I have an offer."</p><p>They exchange a quick look. </p><p>"We're listening," Mirko says, but Sergio shakes his head. </p><p>"Not here. Martín can't know a thing. Do you have time to meet up over the weekend?" </p><p>Ágata's eyes are glinting with interest at the mention of secrecy. </p><p>"Sure. Selene is having a twelve hour shift with Martín tomorrow, so while they're at each other's throats, we can hang out, say, around noon, and you'll spill your- <em> coffee</em>, Martín, don't spill the coffee!"</p><p>She saves them brilliantly as Martín storms back into the space behind the counter. Sergio is impressed.</p><p>For the reminder of the morning, he sits next to Mirko, working on his homework and avoiding any questions about their upcoming talk. He knows he has to be careful; if Martín knew, he would definitely freak out, possibly rat them all out to Andrés or, perhaps, straight up die from embarrassment. He's dramatic like that. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>To: Raquel Murillo</b>
</p><p>
  <em> I've recruited some help. Meeting tomorrow @12. Early lunch/late breakfast before that?  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>From: Raquel Murillo</b>
</p><p>
  <em> It's called brunch. But sure ;))  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"So," Raquel says, munching on her toast. "We're getting ready for phase two since phase one is already in motion?" </p><p>"Yes. The- <em> mutual attraction </em> part," Sergio clears his throat, reaching for his glass of orange juice. The resto bar Raquel suggested for- alright, <em> brunch</em>, is a very nice place, bright and welcoming, serving purely vegan food. Sergio is sure that both Andrés and Martín would hate it. As much as he tries to eat vegetarian, aware of the effect that the meat industry has on the environment, his brother and Martín don't restrain themselves. Andrés, whenever he buys meat, explains that it's from the farmer's market, organic, <em> the finest veal you'll ever taste. </em> Martín usually shrugs and goes: <em> it was on sale, what the fuck, Sergio, eat up.  </em></p><p>"Objectively, I know that Martín is more handsome than not," he continues. "But I can't tell you <em> what </em>is attractive about him. You, for example, you have beautiful hair, an amazing smile, you're both strong and soft, the way you snort when you laugh is charming. See? Easy. Martín though? Hell if I know."</p><p>He looks up and sees that Raquel is grinning at him.</p><p>"You find it charming when I snort?" she asks and his brain turns off for a moment; it restarts, then, and Sergio decides that perhaps the best course of action is to smile back and be honest. </p><p>"Yes. Yes, of course."</p><p>"Cute," she says before frowning and putting down her food. "I'm trying to come up with what might be attractive about either your brother or his not-quite boyfriend, but during the last date, I got blinded by their huge egos."</p><p>Now it's Sergio's turn to snort; and right into his orange juice. Well, Raquel is not wrong. </p><p>They finish their food and head out to the park where they've agreed to meet with Ágata and Mirko. The two of them are already there, stretched out on the grass, enjoying the sun that still shines on Madrid in the first half of October. </p><p>Sergio introduces them to Raquel and they all sit in a circle, Martín's coworkers eyeing him curiously. </p><p>"Me and Raquel are working on a plan to get my brother and Martín together," he states, blunt and straight to the point. Mirko looks surprised; Ágata, however, doesn't react. Her stare is intense. It's freaking Sergio out, a little bit. He decides to just carry on. </p><p>"I have reasons to believe that not only Martín has a crush on Andrés, but Andrés, too, has very strong feelings towards him, though buried and disguised as friendship. We, uh- they think that Raquel thinks that they are already together. We've been on a double date. And the two of us are prepared to sacrifice more of our time, if only to assure a pleasant coexistence without Andrés' horrible monster of a girlfriend. I care about them both and I- I just want everyone to be happy, alright? I need your help. I'm asking for your help."</p><p>At that, Mirko nods solemnly, pressing a hand to his chest. </p><p>"We all deserve true love," he says, his accent rather prominent. "Martín is very lost. I have found my love, but he is stuck. I want to help."</p><p>"Great," Sergio gives him a smile. He turns to Ágata, then. "What do you think?" </p><p>"<em>Matchmaking</em>," she whispers reverently. "This is the absolute best. I'm in. It's going to be so much fun. And your brother definitely gives off a queer vibe. Doesn't he, Mirko?" </p><p>Again, Mirko nods. </p><p>"He does."</p><p>Sergio doesn't mention the fact that it took him over four years of knowing Andrés to notice.</p><p>"What do you need from us?" Ágata asks, grinning, rubbing her hands together. </p><p>Sergio exchanges a look with Raquel. She tilts her head, urging him to go ahead. </p><p>"Well, since you are a- homosexual man and a heterosexual woman-" </p><p>"How dare you assume my sexuality," Ágata says suddenly, deadpan, and Sergio feels his cheeks burn. </p><p>"Well, but- I mean, I don't want to-" </p><p>"Have mercy on him," Raquel chimes in, patting Sergio's back reassuringly as she smiles at the other girl. "He has the right mindset, just not the experience."</p><p>Ágata laughs, shaking her head, and Sergio lets out a breath of relief. </p><p>"It's fine. So, what is your business with a homosexual male and a heterosexual female, mm?" she asks, playing with the rings on her fingers. </p><p>"I want to know what is attractive about Martín."</p><p>"<em>Ohhh</em>, I can tell you right away that he has very pretty eyes. Nice hair, too. And a great ass. I bet Mirko here has more details, though."</p><p>As she grins, Sergio notices that she has rather sharp teeth. Suddenly, he thinks that Andrés would probably get along with her quite well if he knew her better. The thought is vaguely scary. </p><p>Luckily, he doesn't have the time to dwell on that, because Mirko speaks up, his bear-like paw rubbing at the back of his head.</p><p>"He does have a very nice ass, yes," he mumbles, avoiding Sergio's eyes, as if he were talking about Sergio's brother, not friend. In a sense, he is. "Legs, too. I know people usually don't notice, but he has very good legs. And he's- soft. In a nice way."</p><p>"Alright, thank you," Sergio nods curtly before turning to Raquel. "Any ideas for the next day?" </p><p>Raquel bites her lip, then smirks. Ugh, he really likes her. </p><p>"I have one," she says, "that's probably going to be a lot of fun."</p><p> </p><p>"Riding bikes," Martín repeats, staring at Sergio like he's fearing for his mental state. </p><p>"Yes," Sergio says simply. "We found a place where we can rent them and there's this one cycling route that's really nice, just outside of the city, along the river."</p><p>"<em>Riding bikes</em>. That's your idea of a date?" Martín can't seem to get over it. Sergio wants to roll his eyes so bad it hurts, but instead, he keeps the fake smile plastered to his face, nodding. "What are we supposed to do, get a tandem?" </p><p>Before Sergio has a chance to answer, Andrés, sitting next to Martín at the kitchen table, bursts out laughing.</p><p>"I'd love that, can you imagine? It'd be <em> hilarious.</em>"</p><p>Now, once Sergio knows what to pay attention to, he becomes an avid observer. He has an eye for detail. In the next few seconds that follow, Sergio watches as Martín's scowl turns - for a moment - into a soft smile upon hearing the sound of Andrés' laughter, admittedly very pleasant. He watches as Andrés wraps an arm around Martín's shoulders and shakes him a little, in a very friendly manner, yes, but Sergio catches how his hand lingers on his arm before he lets go, trails down, squeezes; how he rubs his thumb over the material of Martín's shirt before, finally, his hand goes up again and slips away. </p><p>"Please?" Sergio looks at Martín again. He already knows the answer, but he also knows that Martín loves feeling like a co-step-parent. </p><p>Martín narrows his eyes at him, but then, takes a glance at Andrés, still grinning, and sighs. </p><p>"Okay, alright, okay."</p><p> </p><p>The week goes by quickly - Sergio is busy with school as well as with working on bringing Beatriz down. </p><p>Raquel is of great help to him, and they're getting more and more used to each other's presence, more comfortable. They spend a lot of time just quietly working, leaning against each other. It feels good.</p><p>Finally, Saturday comes. They're supposed to catch the train at 9.20, it's 8 and Sergio is staring at Andrés over his cup of coffee. The atmosphere is grave, heavy with dread. The only sound in the apartment is the loud tick-tock of the clock on the wall. </p><p>"We should draw lots," Andrés says finally. </p><p>"No. You've lived longer."</p><p>"I provide for you. It was your idea."</p><p>"He likes you more. He's your fake date, not mine."</p><p>Andrés hums, tapping his fingers against the table. </p><p>"The things I'm willing to do for you," he sighs, getting to his feet. He circles the table and stands before Sergio, then, taking his face in his hands, looking him in the eye with an expression that's deadly serious. </p><p>"Remember that I love you."</p><p>Sergio nods solemnly and watches as Andrés goes to Martín's room in order to wake him up early on his free Saturday morning. </p><p>He closes his eyes and listens. </p><p>The first thing he hears is the sound of their JBL Bluetooth speaker being turned on. Then, Jon Bon Jovi's vocals blast out, shaking the walls with the first, brutally loud lines: <em> Shot through the heart!  </em></p><p>Next, there's a scream and quick footsteps. Sergio opens his eyes to see Andrés running back into the kitchen, ducking away as swiftly as a wild cat when a pillow flies in his direction - it lands right in the sink filled with dirty dishes. </p><p>"You are a dead man!" Martín yells from the doorstep, his eyes wide open, hair sticking out in odd places. </p><p>"<em>How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it</em>," Andrés recites, spreading his arms out. </p><p>Martín is speechless. </p><p>"That's Marcus Aurelius," Sergio supplies helpfully. "Sit down, please? Have some coffee, get ready. You agreed to the bike date, remember?"</p><p>Martín mumbles some curses under his breath and takes a seat. Sergio doesn't miss the fond, amused smile on Andrés' face. </p><p> </p><p>They finish their coffee and get dressed. Sergio doesn't have it in him to ask why Andrés is wearing yoga pants and professional-looking cycling jersey.</p><p>"Alright, we can go," Martín doesn't sound too enthusiastic as he steps out of his room. Sergio takes one look at him and then turns his gaze to Andrés, waiting for a reaction. </p><p>The day before, Sergio made sure to put a pair of shorts on the top of the pile of clothes flooding Martín's closet. He's wearing them now and Andrés' eyes <em> definitely </em>linger on his bare legs. </p><p>Never in his life would Sergio ever have thought that one day, he would consider making his brother stare at his friend's thighs such an achievement; and yet, here he is. </p><p> </p><p><em> Fun. </em> That word would probably be the correct way to describe the date. They ride along the river, in beautiful scenery, and Andrés is unusually quiet. What a gift; what a blessing. Sergio keeps catching him staring at Martín, at the parts of his- <em> lower anatomy </em> so fondly described by Ágata and Mirko. It's a win. </p><p>Another win, besides forcing his brother to see Martín sweat, is the fact that after an hour, the two of them fall behind. Sergio isn't tired and neither is Raquel, who's now let go of the handlebars and has leaned back, keeping her balance, her back straight and her hands coming up to tug at her ponytail, securing it better on place. She's beautiful. Sergio is probably grinning like an idiot and he doesn't even <em> care.  </em></p><p>"How long is this route anyway?" Andrés asks and Sergio feels a small pang of empathy, hearing how bravely he's trying to pretend he isn't completely breathless. He can hear Martín's heavy panting, too; well, that's what they get for smoking. They probably think that Sergio doesn't know. </p><p>"Forty-nine kilometers total," Raquel replies and a sound of screeching tires tears through the air. </p><p>"Are you <em> fucking </em>kidding me?!" </p><p>That's Martín. All of them stop, and Sergio turns back to look at his brother, visibly shaken by the prospect, and Martín, positively furious. </p><p>"No way! Nope. I'm out. I'll just stay here and die," he states, his chest heaving. </p><p>Sergio doesn't say anything. He prays that for once, Andrés makes a good decision. His brother doesn't disappoint. </p><p>"Well, if my dearest here is tired," he says slowly, as if he wasn't exhausted himself. "Then I think I should indulge him."</p><p>With that, Andrés gets off his bicycle and drops it unceremoniously. He walks over to Martín and makes a show out of pushing back the sweaty strands of his hair, plastered to the forehead. </p><p>"Look at you, my poor thing," he murmurs. Sergio is pretty sure that Martín's blush is not solely due to fatigue anymore. Andrés looks at Raquel, then. </p><p>"I'm very sorry, I know how you insisted on our company, but we're going to find some nice place around here to rest and you can go ahead."</p><p>"Oh," Raquel masterfully feigns disappointment. "Well, I understand. We'll be going back by the same route anyway, so you can join us then, if you're willing to wait." </p><p>Andrés nods. </p><p>"We have nothing but time on our hands," he says, putting a hand on Martín's shoulder. Martín is quiet. Sergio almost feels sorry for playing with him like that, but he's sure that it's all going to pay off in the end. </p><p> </p><p>Another great success awaits when, after a very quiet and pleasant ride, he and Raquel come back to the place where they've left their elders. A few meters away from the route, under a tree, with the bicycles abandoned next to them, both Andrés and Martín are fast asleep.</p><p>"Aw," Raquel smiles. "That's the first time I actually find them cute."</p><p>Sergio stifles a laugh. He doesn't want to wake them, not yet - his plan is <em> working</em>, Martín is lying with his head on Andrés' chest, Andrés' arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders. So, Sergio pulls out his phone and takes a picture, hoping to show them once they're finally together. <em> Look how dumb you were</em>, he will say on the day of his triumph.</p><p>He steps closer then and crouches down next to the two, putting a careful hand on Andrés' shoulder. Andrés flinches and blinks open his eyes, yawning as he looks from Sergio to Raquel. </p><p>"We're going back to the city," Raquel explains. </p><p>"Do I have to wake him up a second time in a day?" Andrés frowns up at Sergio. </p><p>"You could do it <em> gently,</em>" he says in a hushed tone, as if there's really a secret to be kept from Raquel.</p><p>Andrés sighs. He puts his hand at the back of Martín's head, stroking with his thumb. He leans in, his voice quiet and even close to tender as he speaks. </p><p>"Hey, Martín? Time to go."</p><p>Martín groans and presses himself closer to Andrés, refusing to wake up. Sergio studies his brother's face and sees nothing but fondness softening his features. </p><p>He remembers very well the first time he'd seen that look on his face. It was two months after Andrés had taken him in, and Sergio was doing his homework, complaining about the school program being overloaded and poorly constructed, leaving teachers with no other choice than to give out homework. Sergio was thirteen and so angry he made a whole speech about depriving the students of their free time.</p><p>Andrés had smiled at him, then, and ruffled his hair, the first true gesture of affection since they knew each other. <em> Then don't do it</em>, he'd said, <em> focus on what you like, just make sure you pass.  </em></p><p>Sergio watches as Martín's eyes snap open when  Andrés' hand moves to the nape of his neck. He almost jumps, but Andrés keeps him close. </p><p>"Welcome back, <em> cariño, </em>we've slept through the date," he says intently and Martín slumps against him once he remembers the whole ordeal. </p><p>"Ugh. Right. Are we going back now?" </p><p>"Yup," Raquel steps closer as they get up. "Good thing nobody stole your bikes while you were out of it."</p><p>"We were both very alert," Martín mutters, rubbing at his eyes.</p><p>"I was busy protecting what really matters," Andrés flashes one of his charming, sharp smiles, wrapping an arm around Martín and pulling him close again, pressing his nose into his hair. For a second, Martín looks like he's about to freak out before he relaxes a little and manages a strangled: <em> aw. </em></p><p>Sergio casts Raquel a worried look. </p><p> </p><p>He calls her in the evening that day, when he's alone with Martín, Andrés being God knows where and doing fuck knows what. Sergio sneaks out of his room and as far away from Martín's room as possible, meaning: into the kitchen. He sits in the open window, letting his legs dangle outside as he listens to Raquel. </p><p>"<em>He was staring at Martín's ass for a half of the day, why else do you think he was staying behind him most of the time? And the way they slept? Sergio, you're not crazy and this is going to work.</em>"</p><p>"But," Sergio hisses, keeping his voice low and glancing towards the door. "Martín is on the verge of a breakdown, I can tell. We can't have him breaking down over this, not when I haven't yet gotten rid of Beatriz. Andrés is getting annoyed with her, but he's stubborn, it's not enough yet."</p><p>"<em>I know. Look, we can't force another date onto them anyway. Besides, I want you to myself some more, too,</em>" there's a smile evident in her voice, making it stretch into something warmer that tugs at Sergio's chest instantly. </p><p>"I-... Yeah. Yeah, me too. As in, to spend more time alone. As in, together. I'm just anxious, is all."</p><p>"<em>No shit," </em> Raquel laughs, but without mockery. "<em>Relax, what could possibly happen that would stop us now?</em>" </p><p>Here's what happens, right after the words leave her mouth: there's a scream that nearly makes Sergio drop his phone out of the window. It's not just any scream, no, it's a loud, panicked, extremely pissed: <em> what the fuck?!  </em></p><p>"I'll call you back," is all Sergio manages to say before Martín yells again, this time calling for him to come over. </p><p>Sergio's blood freezes in his veins when he walks out of the kitchen and sees that Martín is standing in <em> his </em>room. </p><p>He steps closer, his heart thumping away in his chest, sweat forming on his brow already, his mind going through a hundred possible scenarios, excuses and explanations. </p><p>He knows exactly what is it that Martín is holding in his hand, even before he throws it to the floor with enough force to make it slide all the way over to Sergio; it's his bullet journal. His dumb fucking bullet journal, filled mostly with dates of exams, tests, interesting cultural events, rent and bills deadlines- and he's left it open on the page where he'd scribbled:</p><p>
  <em> Thursday, 24.10 - 17:30 - discussing Beatriz' ultimate downfall / Raquel, Ágata (Mirko and Martín at work 15-21) </em>
</p><p>Sergio takes one glance at it before turning his gaze to Martín, who looks furious, yes, but also hurt and- betrayed, even. His fists are clenched by his sides and Sergio is both thankful for not getting punched in the face and afraid that it might still happen.</p><p>"I fucking <em> knew </em>you were up to something. You have one minute," Martín hisses through clenched teeth, his whole face red. "One fucking minute to explain yourself, you sneaky piece of shit."</p><p>Sergio searches for the right answer, desperately. He hates being called out, it makes his mouth go dry and his cheeks burn, it makes him lose his footing and he has to try and find something, anything, that could possibly be enough to save this from being an absolute catastrophe. </p><p>Finally, under Martín's fiery gaze, he says either the best or the worst possible thing. </p><p>"Andrés is in love with you."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another chapter! The 5th already, wheeew.<br/>We have a new tag, since there's some steam happening 👀</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martín is laughing. In fact, he's laughing so hard that he has to sit down on Sergio's bed for a moment, holding his sides, shaking, before he can finally look up at the boy and speak. </p><p>"<em>In love with me!</em>" he repeats, tone dripping with sarcasm. "What, did you catch him drawing my face all over the morning newspaper?" </p><p>"No, but-" </p><p>"<em>Sergio!</em>" Martín is feeling hysteric. This can't be happening. "Have you gone completely nuts?! What the fuck are you doing? Trying to break them up, trying to get <em> us </em> to date? Is that it? You have got to be <em> fucking </em>kidding me!" </p><p>"I'm trying to make you both happy!" </p><p>Now Sergio raises his voice, too. Martín wants to retort, but he doesn't give him the chance to, picking up his journal and waving it around as he speaks. </p><p>"You don't know what he was like before he knew you, but even now, the way he is with <em> her </em> and the way he is with <em> you </em>- He's not the same person! He's happy around you, happier than I've ever seen him!" </p><p>"Because we're <em> friends!</em>" Martín yells, one hand coming up to tangle into his hair and tug. "God fucking dammit, your brother is <em> straight</em>, he's been <em> married </em>already, he likes women, Sergio, and likes them a lot!" </p><p>"That's performative heterosexuality that stems from the idealised image of himself that he has etched in his brain and tries to recreate!" </p><p>Martín's own brain hurts at that. He lets go of his hair and rubs at his temple, instead. He <em> knows </em>Andrés is different around Beatriz, but that's his choice and none of Martín's business. </p><p>"Martín, <em> please </em>listen to me," Sergio pleads, his eyes burning with determination. "I know how much you love him-" </p><p>"What?!" </p><p>He's about to lose it. God, fuck, he's definitely about to lose it. </p><p>"I see how you look at him, Ágata and Mirko said so, too, that you're in love. Andrés is being stupid, alright, but he loves you, too! I know he does!" </p><p>"Of course he does!" Martín jumps to his feet again. He feels- naked, exposed, vulnerable, helpless. Panic is gripping at his throat, strangling him, cruel and overwhelming, making the words spill out of him. "Of <em> course </em> he does, that's why I want it to stay the way it is! I'm his <em> best friend</em>, his <em> family</em>, we're family here!"</p><p>"Exactly! We already are!" Sergio seems just as frustrated as he is. "His exes, <em> Beatriz</em>, none of them ever felt right, and I was always jealous of him, and worried for him, but you make him feel <em> comfortable.</em>"</p><p>"Because we're friends!" Martín yells again, dangerously close to crying now, but he won't, not in front of Sergio, never in front of Sergio.</p><p>"But he is <em> not </em>happy, and neither are you," Sergio states then, decidedly. Martín clenches his teeth. </p><p>"I've never been happier," he grits out. "I'm <em> home, </em> don't you get it? And yes, I love him. I love him so much, <em> so much.</em>"</p><p>He'd never said that, not to anyone. </p><p>"I don't need anything else, just to stay here and to love him still," he adds, crossing his arms over his chest.</p><p>"Martín, <em> please. </em>Let me show you. You've seen the note, it's not just me, it's your friends, too, and Raquel. Andrés thinks he has a role to play, I don't know why he's like that, why does he have this- this weird fantasy he wants to create around himself, but it's not okay, it's not healthy, and he's going to be disappointed again and again, and he'll grow bitter."</p><p>Martín keeps staring at him. He knows that Sergio couldn't possibly do anything to hurt his brother, he knows that the two of them share a deep bond, he knows how much of a privilege it is to be allowed into the family, to be accepted by Sergio in the end, no matter how much they argue sometimes. </p><p>Still, it doesn't feel right. He wants to go to Andrés and tell him what a madman Sergio is being, he wants him to laugh and say <em> how adorable</em>, he wants to turn it all into a joke. He's terrified.</p><p>"Look," Sergio is running a hand through his hair now, taking deep breaths as he steps closer, careful as if Martín was a wild animal. "Beatriz only cares about her Instagram account. They're nothing but accessories to each other, her and Andrés. Yes or no?" </p><p>Of course, Sergio is going for a logical approach.</p><p>Martín shrugs, still defensive, avoiding his gaze. Of course it's a <em> yes. </em>He knows that Beatriz never listens to Andrés, and rarely asks him about anything. He knows that Andrés is just the same, if not worse. </p><p><em> Beautiful, </em> Andrés always says, <em> a dynamite, a jewel, a star. </em>A golden pin in his tie. Not that being a pin in Andrés' tie is a bad career choice.</p><p>"Maybe they are," he mutters finally. "So what?" </p><p>"Andrés is not that shallow, he needs more than that, you know it."</p><p>Martín shrugs again. He's heard it multiple times, too. <em> She's giving me a headache. She slept through </em> Dolor y gloria<em>, Martín, how is such a thing possible? Beatriz? Oh, she only listens to the radio. Doesn't have a taste for music.  </em></p><p>"Give me no more than two weeks. I'll make sure he realizes that Beatriz is a mistake. You'll just have to- make a move, that's it. If it doesn't work, fine, you can laugh it off, tell him you were just playing, you know he'll be fine with it."</p><p>He would. Andrés is fine with so many things. He's fine with Martín touching him and being close to him. He's fine with Martín being too much, sometimes. He's fine with Martín being a mess. <em> It's fine</em>, he'd told him one time, when Martín was drunk and crying into his neck about hating everyone and everything. <em> It's fine, </em>he'd said and he'd held him.</p><p>"You," Martín says finally, pointing a finger at Sergio. "You are worse than he is."</p><p>Sergio looks weirdly proud, even though his lips are pressed into a thin line. </p><p>"I have it all figured out. You won't have to play any role in breaking his relationship. You'll just… make it better afterwards, just like you did the last time."</p><p>Martín's lip twitches. </p><p>"Aw, Sergio. Look at us. Love at first sight much?" he teases. Even though his hands are still shaking, he's relaxing slowly, all thanks to the banter, a sign of normalcy, of comfort. </p><p>"Oh, absolutely not. I hated you for the first few weeks, if not months."</p><p>Fair enough.</p><p> </p><p>For the next three days, Martín can't help but look at Andrés and wonder if maybe, if somehow-</p><p>If there's a chance. </p><p>Andrés is being affectionate as always. Martín notices that Beatriz is around less, which must be Sergio's doing, and he finds himself… grateful for it.</p><p>"Teach me how to do latte art."</p><p>Martín nearly screams when he hears Andrés' voice so close; he was busy painting on a cappuccino and now, of course, the coffee is all over the counter. He licks some of the milk off of his fingers, frowning up at Andrés who's staring at him with a weird look on his face. </p><p>"Do you always have to sneak up on me like that?"</p><p>"You know I have a lot of practise sneaking around." </p><p>Martín snickers, nodding. He feels- pleasantly warm, knowing that this is a secret they share, something Andrés trusts him with.</p><p>"So?" Andrés asks, tilting his head to the side, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Will you show me? It's not like it's very busy in here."</p><p>He's right. Ágata is on a cigarette break, since all of the customers - save for the one who just ordered the cappuccino - already have been served. They sit scattered around the café, now, talking and working. It's a slow morning. A nice one. Martín hopes the whole day goes like this, because he'd skipped classes to take on a twelve hour shift with Ágata and then Mirko, and he's hoping for it to not end with him feeling both murderous and dead on his feet. </p><p>"Sure. Just let me finish this."</p><p>Martín cleans up the counter, makes another cappuccino and carries it to the table. As he walks back behind the counter, he hands Andrés an apron and watches, transfixed, as he puts it on top of his white shirt. <em> Hot</em>. </p><p>"Alright, so, you make your espresso," Martín clears his throat as he starts talking, pressing a button on the espresso machine and watching as the coffee starts dripping down into a cup. "Take one of the pitchers, they're over there- yeah, and fill it with milk, like, halfway."</p><p>Andrés doesn't say anything. His brow is already creased in focus as he does what he was told and waits for Martín to tell him what to do next. Martín's dumb fucking brain is already getting overwhelmed with the fact that he's <em> instructing </em> Andrés. No one tells Andrés what to do. <em> No one. </em>Well, Sergio tries to, sometimes, but one can never be sure of the outcome. </p><p>He shakes the feeling off and steps closer, tells him to put the steam wand into the pitcher, explaining the correct way to place it as he turns on the wand. It hisses, and the milk starts to bubble, and Andrés looks confused.</p><p><em> For the science of coffee-making, </em>Martín thinks as he gently puts his hand over Andrés', tilting the pitcher slightly and raising it up when he sees that the froth is rather extensive already. </p><p>"You have to wait until it's almost burning you," he says quietly. "Then you turn the steam off."</p><p>Andrés nods, eyeing the pitcher attentively. A few seconds later, he turns off the steam wand and pulls away; then, with a satisfied grin, he taps the pitcher twice against the wooden counter. Martín raises an eyebrow at him. </p><p>"My, my, aren't you a professional."</p><p>"I saw you doing that."</p><p>Martín tries not to think about the fact that Andrés must have been looking at him at work; it's thrilling enough to have him watching now, smiling and eager to learn something new.</p><p>"Alright, so the milk seems to have the right texture, now take the cup and-" </p><p>Andrés picks up the cup with espresso and, really, there's no way around it, Martín has to stand close to him and grab the hand that's holding the pitcher. At least his grip is sure, even though Andrés' skin is so warm under his fingertips. Well, he can control himself, he has a task, no? Slowly, confidently, he guides his hand as they pour the milk into the coffee, their movements minuscule, precise. A few circles, then three drops and finally, a string across, and there it is - a nicely done rosetta.</p><p>Andrés hums and Martín looks up at him to see his eyes full of wonder.</p><p>"I love it," he says, and Martín nods. </p><p>"It is satisfying, yeah."</p><p>Not without regret, he lets go of Andrés' hand, allowing him to put the pitcher down.</p><p>"Since I've made it, the coffee is mine," Andrés declares, raising the cup in victory before walking back to his seat. </p><p>"Thief," Martín murmurs, smiling. </p><p>He only gets back to work once he sees the look on Ágata's face as she stares at him through the window. </p><p> </p><p>"That was flirting."</p><p>"No, it wasn't."</p><p>"Yes, it was. Blatant. Heart-eyes, cherubin choirs singing, roses blooming. Point blank. Flirting."</p><p>"No, it wasn't."</p><p>Ágata rolls her eyes and waves a hand, clearly giving up. She walks back to the table where Sergio and Raquel are, <em> plotting</em>, no doubt. They came in right after school. Fucking <em> Spy Kids. </em>Martín grits his teeth as he returns to work. He unloads the dishwasher and takes the place behind the register, where some caffeine-hungry bastard is already tapping his fingers against the counter.</p><p>When he's done writing down the order and accepting payment, and the customer fucks off, Martín looks around for Mirko and is furious to spot him with that bunch of traitors, standing over them with empty dishes in his hands. Martín never would have assumed that one day, Mirko will be the one to slack off at work. </p><p>"<em>Hijo de puta</em>," he mutters under his breath, walking over to their table.</p><p>Before he has a chance to hiss and bark, Sergio looks up at him and smiles, and Raquel clasps her hands together. </p><p>"Martín!" she grins. "We're over the part you don't need involvement in, but now, we actually need a certain degree of cooperation from you."</p><p>"The fuck?" he frowns. </p><p>"You listen to them," Mirko nudges him slightly with his elbow. "I'll go and take care of the café."</p><p>With that, he gets back to work, leaving Martín with two crazy women and one overly eager ally. That's it. Friendship over.</p><p>"Why don't you sit down?" Sergio offers as if the teenage fucker owned the place. Martín does sit down, but he makes a show out of crossing his arms and looking away from them, feigning disinterest.</p><p>Truth is, he's been mulling over Sergio's words for the last few days, a tiny glimmer of hope finding a spot in his treacherous heart, like an annoying bird making a nest in the most unlikely of places. But it's not like he's going to <em> admit it.  </em></p><p>"Alright," Ágata says, a smile almost cutting her face in half. She legit looks evil, Martín decides. "Welcome to the <em> AdFBU</em>, the <em> Andrés de Fonollosa Bintervention Unit</em>."</p><p>"The <em> what now?!</em>" Martín yells, but Ágata ignores him. </p><p>"Listen, Martín, we all know you can't and won't take part in the destruction of Andrés' trainwreck of a current relationship. That's our job. Well, Sergio's, mostly. But we have decided to inform you of our next steps. Say, what is the one thing that makes everything easier?"</p><p>Martín shrugs.</p><p>"Alcohol?"</p><p>"Exactly!" is what Raquel says, making him blink in surprise.</p><p>"Excuse me?" </p><p>"We're throwing a party," she explains, Sergio nodding along, looking at her with a small playing on his lips. Sergio is nodding along to the idea of throwing a party. Whatever the fuck is going on with this world?</p><p>"A Halloween party. At your place, of course," Ágata adds, pointing at Martín. He's pretty sure this whole situation counts as harassment. "There will be booze, and music, and you don't have a say regarding the playlist because I know you'd put <em> Dancing on my own </em> on there and sulk. I'm saying Smash Mouth. I'm saying Lady Gaga. I'm saying Shakira. We're going to have fun, <em> cariño</em>, and you need a slutty costume."</p><p>"I've gathered some ideas for it," Sergio says in a serious tone and Martín nearly chokes on his own tongue. This is all going too far, and too fast, and everyone has gone crazy. </p><p>"I'm- what are you even <em> talking </em> about? What, do you want me to <em> seduce </em>Andrés? I may be a hot piece of ass, but that- no, I can't. He's not into me, simple as that. It's okay."</p><p>Raquel clicks her tongue, shaking her head. Sergio pulls out his phone and shows Martín a picture-</p><p>It's them. It's them, sleeping next to those damned bikes. Martín feels his cheeks warming up at the memory of Andrés' arm around him, of the closeness, the comfort. </p><p>He's about to open his mouth and- <em> defend himself, </em> somehow, but Sergio swipes the picture and another one shows up, a blurred pic of them standing behind the espresso machine earlier that very day. Martín is looking down, no doubt focused on the frothing, but Andrés is looking at <em> him.  </em></p><p>"The fuck-" </p><p>"Ágata snapped that today and send it to me right away."</p><p>"Stalker," Martín barks in Ágata's general direction, but unable to turn his gaze away from the picture. </p><p>"So," Sergio says, putting down his phone, his voice awfully smug. "We've gathered up some ideas."</p><p>With that, he opens his bag and pulls out a bunch of papers. He places them on the table for Martín to see. Martín can't help but burst out laughing. </p><p>"What the fuck is that?! <em> Sexy firefighter? </em>Sergio, you're losing your mind."</p><p>"There are multiple options! There's, ugh, policeman, bartender, cowboy-" </p><p>Suddenly, Sergio shuts up, his eyes going wide, hands plastered to the pictures of musculous, half-naked men on the table. Martín looks up and sees <em> Andrés </em>walking into the coffeeshop; Andrés, who was supposed to be spending time with Beatriz, walking along Manzanares, or having sweet treats at some Instagram-worthy bakery, or whatever couple-y thing it was they were supposed to be doing. </p><p>Yet, Andrés is there again, and the only one who reacts more or less appropriately is Raquel. She jumps to her feet, grabbing her cup of chemex brewed coffee and promptly spilling it all over Andrés' white shirt.</p><p>"Oh God, so sorry!" she exclaims as Andrés takes a step back, hissing and looking down at the mess. Meanwhile, Sergio quickly gathers the pictures and shoves them into his bag, along with his phone and his journal. They're saved, for now.</p><p>Martín watches as Andrés grits his teeth, clearly annoyed at the situation. Raquel apologizes again, says that she'd slipped and thankfully, Andrés forces a smile, although it still looks more like a grimace. </p><p>"It's fine," he says, trying for charming and managing quite a performance despite his irritation. Martín gets up and puts a hand on his arm. </p><p>"I have a spare shirt in the back. It's probably wrinkled, but better than this, no?" he asks softly. </p><p>Andrés huffs and nods. </p><p> </p><p>In the backroom, Martín digs through his locker and pulls out a shirt. It doesn't look too bad, after all. He hands it to Andrés and steps back, nibbling at his fingers as Andrés starts unbuttoning his ruined shirt. </p><p>"Beatriz has been trying to take my picture all day again," he mutters. Martín listens, he does, but he can't help but glance as more and more skin is revealed. Andrés is beautiful, lean, but not skinny, with sharp, elegant elbows, long neck, with some dark hair on his chest and lower-</p><p>Andrés keeps on talking about how insufferable Beatriz is being, how she can't seem to let this thing go, and Martín tries <em> not </em> to be a creep. He drops his gaze, but then looks up again as Andrés puts on <em> his </em>shirt and buttons it up, all the way up, until he stops and curses. </p><p>"Fuck. I missed a button," he says. It sounds as if the button has somehow personally offended him.</p><p>Martín's body reacts before his mind does; it's an instinct, a willingness to help. If Andrés struggles, Martín is there for him. Even for something as plain as a wrongly buttoned-up shirt. </p><p>He steps closer and puts his hands to the first button, undoing it; then the next and the next. He doesn't dare look up at Andrés, his touch careful, precise. His heartbeat is thrumming loudly in his ears, but he tries to ignore it. He can still turn back, laugh it off, but he doesn't. For some reason, he doesn't.</p><p>He lets out a small breath as the shirt falls open. Still, he doesn't raise his gaze. He manages to keep his fingers from shaking as he closes it back up, slowly, probably slower than needed to. He notices that Andrés has gone completely quiet, and that he doesn't make a single move. </p><p>It's not like he hasn't seen Andrés shirtless before, they <em> live </em>together, for fuck's sake, but it feels intimate. It feels more intimate than having sex with some rando. It's Andrés, and he's letting Martín do that for him. It's Andrés, his breath ghosting over Martín's face, the scent of his cologne pleasant, and intoxicating, and so, so close. </p><p>The last button pops into place. Martín stills, but keeps his hands where they are as he finally, finally looks up and meets Andrés' eyes. </p><p>They seem darker than usual, almost pitch black and bottomless. Martín wishes he could brush his fingertips over Andrés' sharp cheekbones, feel the flutter of his long eyelashes against his skin, trace the shape of his upper lip, so beautiful, so elegant. </p><p>Breathtaking. </p><p>Somehow, neither one of them speaks up. They just stare at each other in the dimly lit, cluttered, tiny room. Andrés' gaze drops to Martín's lips for a moment, then snaps back up, his eyes a little bit wider, and Martín could almost <em> swear </em> he knows what's going on in his head, he can <em> feel </em>it as he feels every shift in Andrés' mood, every emotion like a lighting down Martín's spine. </p><p>Andrés' shoulders raise with the deep breath he takes through his nose; they fall back slowly as he exhales. He opens his mouth, then, as if to say something, and he leans forward a little-</p><p>And then his phone rings. Martín flinches and pulls his hands away; Andrés lets out a huff of laughter, running a hand through his hair as he reaches into the back pocket of his pants. </p><p>He doesn't pick up the phone; dismisses it instead and flashes Martín a smile. </p><p>"Thank you," he says.</p><p>"Of course," Martín nods. Truth is, a part of him wants to scream, to demand <em> what in the everloving fuck was that</em>, to jump right into Andrés' arms and kiss him, touch him, tell him <em> look how good I'm being to you.  </em></p><p>Fucking Sergio and his fucking ideas. He's messed with Martín's head.</p><p>Another part of him, though, is simply grateful for the way Andrés is smiling at him. For the way he trusts him. </p><p>Andrés opens the door and whatever they just shared fades away in the chatter of the customers. </p><p> </p><p>They spend some time in the coffeeshop together like nothing has happened; Martín can't quite focus, he keeps messing up orders and failing to measure out the coffee beans properly. Near the closing hour, Andrés declares that he has a business meeting. </p><p>"Us funeral service managers, we sacrifice our time for the customers that need us," he says gravely and dares to wink at Martín before leaving. </p><p>Mirko throws Martín a worried look as he stares at the closed door. </p><p>Nobody asks why it took them so long in the backroom, and thank fuck for that. It's enough that Martín's thoughts are constantly going back to that moment. Sergio, Ágata and Raquel stay until the coffeeshop closes; so does Mirko, even though his shift has already ended. </p><p>Once he's done counting the cash, Martín stands before them, crossing his arms over his chest. He takes a deep breath before he speaks. </p><p>"I know what I want to dress as. None of those silly costumes."</p><p>"Aww," Ágata sighs, leaning heavily against the broom. At least she has the decency to help him clean up. "I was really hoping for the, what was it now? Ah, the <em> slutty sailor. </em>It would have suited you beautifully."</p><p>Martín can't help but let his lips stretch into a grin. He can play around a little bit. It's not like he doesn't know what he's doing - and just like today, he will have plenty of time to back out. Maybe, again, Andrés won't stop him. Maybe he will allow him this, too.</p><p>"Nah," he says. "Those are for horny schoolboys. Andrés has a more refined taste. Luckily, I know <em> exactly </em>what he likes."</p><p>He explains his idea, then, enjoying the fuck out of everyone's faces, both shocked and delighted. Well, Martín <em> is </em>a genius. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To quote Be More Chill:<br/>Cause a Halloween party's a rad excuse<br/>To put your body through mad abuse</p><p>Does anyone like sweet carbonized drinks? </p><p>Huge thanks to my dearest dashwood and Shotgun for helping me pick Martín's costume</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>sara99: </b> <em> ive been a fan of u for years, but girl, why don't you ever show your bf???? </em></p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>lex.jaja: </b> <em> that's bc he's fake. @sierra.a already played that game and lost. taking your followers for dummies are we?  </em></p>
</blockquote><p><b>beauty_kitten: </b> <em> what bronzer r u using? better focus on the cosmetics and clothes rather than showing off a fake relationship  </em></p><p> </p><p><b>From: </b> <a href="mailto:c.chavez@purenature.com"> <em> c.chavez@purenature.com </em> </a></p><p><b>To: </b> <a href="mailto:bea.beauty@gmail.com"> <em> bea.beauty@gmail.com </em> </a></p><p><b>Subject: </b> <em> Re: collaboration offer </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Ms. Torres,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Due to the growing controversies around your Instagram account, we're sorry to inform you that our marketing team has decided to withdraw our offer. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We sincerely hope that you'll be able to address the controversies and put an end to them for the sake of your future career.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Best regards,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cristina Chavez,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Pure Nature Cosmetics </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Andrés expected many things from Beatriz, he's gotten used to her making scenes from time to time, it's even amusing, once in a while, but this? This is completely over the top. </p><p>He's only glad that it's <em> her </em>apartment she's currently destroying - he almost feels sorry for her dumb flatmate - and not his.</p><p>"<em>Pero, mi reina-</em>" he tries when she's been screaming for nearly ten minutes, throwing pillows and tearing off decorative fairy lights. </p><p>For trying to be nice, he gets a glassful of water thrown in his face before Beatriz smashes the glass against the floor. </p><p>"It was a chance of a lifetime, what the <em> fuck </em> do you not understand about that?! But <em> nooo, </em> you've never listened, you dick! If you'd listened to me for <em> once, </em>you would have known how important this was!" </p><p>"It's social media," Andrés says, rolling his eyes as he pulls on his shirt, now wet and sticking to his body. What has he ever done to deserve this?</p><p>"Social media influencer is a valid fucking profession!" Beatriz yells, her cheeks and neck flushed with anger.</p><p>"<em>Influencer,</em>" Andrés snorts. He barely manages to duck away as another glass flies in his direction. Why are people always throwing things at him? At least Martín never really means any harm, even if woken up at an ungodly hour. He's actually pretty adorable when he gets angry like that.</p><p>"Still better than whatever it is that you do!" </p><p>Oh, she's still screaming. Great. </p><p>"What is it that you do, anyway? You always make up shit, thinking you're being witty, so what is it? Are you perhaps a rich, spoiled kid who spends his daddy's money, hm?"</p><p>Now, Andrés is both hurt and furious. At least Clara had assumed he was a <em> mafioso</em>, which was sort of flattering, but this? This can't fucking sail. </p><p>"I'm not a child, and I definitely don't have to rely on my parents' money, contrary to <em> you</em>," he snaps, his fingernails digging hard into the palms of his hands. One should never raise their hand upon a woman, after all. </p><p>"Well, a chance to <em> gain </em>money just went right by my nose, all because of you! Get fucked, Andrés, I don't ever want to see you again, do you understand? Ever!" </p><p>There it goes. That's what he's getting for being patient, and loving, and caring, and generous. Just like the last time. </p><p>To think that he wanted to propose. That he'd imagined a wedding, a beautiful venue, a white dress, himself in a tuxedo, Sergio and Martín in similar ones, not as elegant, but almost. He'd imagined a fabulous reception, lilies of the valley and purple lilacs, their amazing scent, fairy lights, for sure, an exquisite menu and a band that would play old classics, <em> Que Sera, Sera,</em> maybe. It could have been magical. </p><p>It's absolutely <em> heartbreaking </em> to discover that Beatriz cares so much more about her pathetic Instagram pseudo-career than about everything Andrés has to offer. Not only that, she basically just spat in his face. She thinks she's <em> better </em>than him. Shocking, upsetting and wrong is what it is. </p><p>Andrés has his dignity, though, which is why he sticks his chin out and narrows his eyes, and turns away. It does hurt him to walk out, it really does, because it means that he’s going to need to find someone else to romance, play the whole game again, and it’s getting tiring. Frustrating, even. It’s like he can never get this right, like the idea of love is slipping right through his fingers.</p><p>When he walks out of Beatriz’ building, the sky is heavy with dark clouds, the barely visible sun already dropping beyond the horizon; a perfect setting for a post-breakup depression, really. Andrés heads towards a bar, intent on drowning his sorrows in a glass of strong alcohol, like any heartbroken lover would.</p><p> </p><p>The place is not something he would usually pick, but it works. It’s dimly lit, filled with people who could be described as suspicious-looking at best, and it smells faintly of sweat and cheap cologne. Andrés knows better than to draw any attention to himself, he tries to blend right into the loveless crowd, drinking alone, seated in a corner. Normally, that wouldn’t be a good look on him, but tonight? Tonight, he lets himself be consumed by despair, by loneliness, by hopelessness. There’s beauty in that, too, after all.</p><p>Take Martín. Martín, who gives himself over to strangers, Martín, whose childish innocence has been taken away from him, replaced by bitterness, by pain. Martín, always on the verge of self-destruction, and yet loving, still. Martín, such a miracle, such a wonderful, fascinating, conflicted thing; so open and vulnerable, but guarded at the same time. Martín gets melancholic; Martín is beautiful like that. </p><p>Andrés lets himself sink into those thoughts, fully embracing the aesthetic. That is, until his phone buzzes where it's lying on the not-so-clean table. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>From: Martín 🌖</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Idk where u are but the party is already on so dont be surprised when u get home unless youre like, staying over with your girl </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ah. The party. Of course. Now that, Andrés doesn't want to miss, no matter his current problems. Sergio has been planning it for the past week or so and Andrés has been glad for it. His <em> hermanito </em>doesn't have many friends, his peers being decidedly below him, but Raquel? Raquel is different. She's something else. Ever since Sergio started going out with her, Andrés had noticed him interacting with others more, too. Sure, it's mostly Martín's friends from work that he's been talking to, but he's grown visibly more confident.</p><p>Andrés finishes his drink, ready to go, but then he remembers- it's a Halloween party. He's supposed to get a costume, and he'd forgotten about that completely, thanks to Beatriz ruining his whole mood. Then again, this unhappiness could be used, and used beautifully. Andrés decides on a costume that will express his state perfectly. Luckily, he does have acquaintances in strange places, including a theatre, so he doesn’t need to worry about looking for periodical clothing. </p><p> </p><p>An hour later, he stands before their building and smirks at the music blasting through the open window. Most of their neighbours are pretty sketchy people, but if someone dares to call the cops on them for disrupting the quiet hours, Andrés will not hesitate to throw Raquel to the pigs, make her see what a nuisance they are and how much of a buzzkill their job is.</p><p>He climbs the stairs, tugging at his tail coat that he’d sprinkled generously with perfume to get rid of the smell of the theatre’s storage room. He’d done a pretty good job with that, he believes. The whole outfit is nothing short of amazing - even the breeches work, but well, why wouldn’t they? Andrés has good calves. </p><p>Before he can even reach for the door to their flat, it flings itself open and he’s welcomed by Sergio’s earnest smile that turns into a confused frown as he takes a look at Andrés’ costume. </p><p>“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” he asks. Andrés suppresses the will to tell him that he’s an illiterate ignorant. He sighs deeply instead, trying to convey the unspeakable tragedy of the day’s events with a single sound.</p><p>“I’m Werther, of course. The purest romantic, lonesome and heartbroken, disconsolate.”</p><p>“Beatriz dumped you,” Sergio states, deadpan. “Good riddance. I mean, I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Bastard. Andrés narrows his eyes at him.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t expect <em> Maximilien de Robespierre </em>to know anything about romance anyway, since he was a hopeless virgin from what he know.”</p><p>It’s Sergio’s turn to squint. It looks hilarious considering the fact that he’s wearing a wig. Andrés’ lips twitch.</p><p>“There are things that Robespierre and I <em> don’t </em>have in common.”</p><p>Andrés stares. It actually takes him a while and Sergio is already turning back towards the flat.</p><p>“What? ...Sergio, <em> what</em>?!”</p><p>He gets ignored. Sergio just smirks in victory as he moves aside to let Andrés in.</p><p>“Don’t forget that while you don’t have a <em>girlfriend</em> anymore, you do have a boyfriend since Raquel is here,” is the last thing his brother says before disappearing in the kitchen.</p><p>Andrés closes the door behind himself. <em> Fuck, </em> he hadn’t thought about that. It’s not like playing Martín’s lover is hard, it’s just that-... it’s-... surprisingly easy. <em> Easy, </em>that’s what it is. Therefore, confusing. </p><p>Still, as he steps into the small crowd of people filling their tiny apartment, his eyes start looking around for Martín immediately and his heart is disappointed not to find him there. He’s tipsy already, and needy, and hungry for affection; it’s an offense, really, that Martín hasn’t magically appeared at his side the moment he’s thought about him.</p><p>Andrés recognizes most faces immediately; it’s not like either Martín or Sergio have many friends. He sees Ágata, dressed as a witch, sitting on their couch and seemingly setting up tarot cards. Lovely. He notices some kids, probably high schoolers, and that she-devil Silene, and that one huge guy that Martín knows from university. He doesn’t see Dragic anywhere. Now that’s fucking disturbing.</p><p>“Tequila?” </p><p>He turns around to see Raquel, sporting a Wonder Woman costume, holding two shot glasses.</p><p>“Aren’t you still underage?” he asks dryly. </p><p>“Martín didn’t seem to mind.”</p><p>Andrés sighs, taking the glass. Of course he didn't. They both down the tequila and he has to admit he’s impressed by the way Raquel barely flinches. The drink is bitter, burning deliciously down his throat, liquid fire pouring straight into his chest.</p><p>“Where is he, anyway?”</p><p>Raquel gives him a bright smile. </p><p>“In his room, on a smoke break with Mirko.”</p><p>Great. Now Martín is sharing cigarettes with fucking strangers. Well, not <em> strangers, </em> but Mirko is not Andrés, simple as that. Suddenly, Andrés remembers that one night when they were both drunk out of their minds, nearly falling off the rooftop, laughing like idiots, and they shared their first cigarette; Andrés’ first, because he was never a smoker. Martín was positively hammered back then and he probably has barely any recollection of the night, but he had said: <em> open your mouth, </em>and he had breathed the smoke out and right in-between Andrés’ parted lips. It wasn’t a kiss, but something alike. Andrés wonders if that’s what’s happening behind closed doors right now.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>He blinks at the sound of Raquel’s voice and nods, exhaling through his nose. He lets her drag him to the kitchen, then, where various bottles of alcohol are displayed on the table. Even Sergio is sipping on something. Good for him, Andrés thinks, pouring himself a drink and latching onto it immediately.</p><p>“Fonollosa,” Silene drawls, slipping into the room, her black cat outfit matching her moves perfectly. “Are those <em> tights </em>I see wrapped around your legs?”</p><p>Aren’t women just insufferable?</p><p>“It’s periodical clothing,” he says calmly, forcing a smile sweet as artificial sugar. “Not that you would know anything about history or literature.”</p><p>The girls scoffs, taking a seat by the table and reaching for a bottle of beer.</p><p>“What are you even dressed as, huh?”</p><p>“Werther,” says a warm voice and Andrés’ mouth stretches wider, into a grin.</p><p>
  <em> Martín. </em>
</p><p>He turns towards the doorway and whatever he had to say dies in his throat.</p><p>It’s not Martín, it’s a vision.</p><p>He's covered in bronze, that's the first thing that's due to draw attention. Not just the tunic he's wearing, but every inch of skin is bronze, covered in body paint. And there's a lot of skin. The upper part of the tunic is hugging his chest tightly, blending in, his neck and collarbones exposed, his shoulders and arms-</p><p>The lower part is a <em> skirt. </em>A skirt that reaches mid-thigh, no, shorter than that, even, and Andrés has seen those legs, has watched them during the outrageously stupid biking date, but it wasn't as provocative, as indecent as this. </p><p>His hair is tousled, curling slightly at the top where it's longer. </p><p>Some say that Verrocchio modeled his <em> David </em>after young da Vinci, his pupil. He definitely should have modeled after Martín.</p><p>Martín who, right now, is one of Andrés' favourite statues come to life. Who's looking at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. </p><p>"Do you like it?" he asks and Andrés steps closer, unable to look away. He's allowed to, he reminds himself. No, he's <em> supposed to</em>, since they are, after all, fake dating. </p><p>"Did you know," Andrés says quietly, tilting his head to the side, "that Verrocchio's name was Andrea?"</p><p>"Oh, what a coincidence," Martín purses his lips, his eyes wide. Oh, he <em> knew. </em>Andrés can tell that he knew and that he's decided to be smug about it. </p><p>"Pity I can't touch you," he murmurs. "I would ruin the paint. Besides, touching works of art is strictly forbidden."</p><p>"You never seemed to care much about that."</p><p>A joke, a reminder of their shared secret, a carefully crafted lie over the truth of hands that haven't touched, of bodies never pressed together, of lips never meeting. </p><p>Andrés' fingers have never itched that much to steal, to take, to own. </p><p>He has no idea what's happening to him. He just knows that Martín is beautiful, and perfect, and fascinating. He can't get enough of him like that. </p><p>Martín takes the one step that still separated them, and now they're barely centimeters apart. Slowly, Andrés raises a hand and traces Martín's arm with his fingertips. He feels him shiver. He finds it intoxicating.</p><p>"Excellent surprise," he whispers finally, moving away. He takes a look at Sergio and sees him wide-eyed. He probably did cross a line there. But Andrés can't control himself, not really.</p><p> </p><p>All throughout the evening, he's gravitating towards Martín, looking for a loving hand to tangle up in his hair, looking for quiet understanding and easy banter, looking for comfort, but also, yes, <em> wondering.  </em></p><p>Wondering what would it be like if this were real, wondering how would those legs feel wrapped around him, wondering if Martín’s lips would be any different than a girl’s. Wondering, not for the first time.</p><p>Martín is clearly in his element, having fun, mixing drinks, singing along to the songs; he’s vibrant, electric.  Andrés was fully intent on playing Werther that night, brooding in a corner, pondering on his lost love and yet, he finds himself drawn in by Martín. They’re shamelessly flirting. A part of him already knows what’s going to happen.</p><p>“Are you even wearing anything underneath that tunic?”</p><p>“My, wouldn’t you like to find out.”</p><p>It’s funny and meant as jokes, except it’s not. It feels like a sultry afternoon, when it’s still dry and hot, but there’s a rumble of storm somewhere in the distance, a promise of downpour.</p><p>At some point, Ágata sits him down and hands him her tarot cards with a grin.</p><p>“I’m doing readings for everybody. Shuffle them, they have to get all soaked up in your energy. What’s your zodiac sign?”</p><p>Andrés smirks, taking the cards and shuffling them, eyeing her curiously. He’d always liked her, in a way.</p><p>“Aries,” he says.</p><p>“Ahh,” Ágata nods solemnly, <em> knowingly, </em>closing her eyes for a moment. “That would explain it, then.”</p><p>“Explain what?”</p><p>“Draw three cards. Put them on the table, facing down.”</p><p>He does.</p><p>She then says that the three cards represent the past, the present and the future. She starts turning them over, starting with the <em> past </em>one.</p><p>“Oh, the Three of Swords, meaning heartbreak. Suffering, I see. Now, for your present self… the Page of Wands, reversed. Oh, if it were upright, it would mean discoveries, excitement, freedom. But reversed? Sadly, it means that you’re lost, lacking direction. Lazy, too. For your finances, it means that you’re in trouble because you’ve been spending too much. For love, it means that your search has been aimless. Let’s see what the future holds!”</p><p>Andrés barely registers her flipping the last card over. He’s not really listening, anyway. Martín is currently trying to teach Sergio how to dance Macarena. What a sight.</p><p>“The Judgement! Wow, Major Arcana. Good news - it’s upright, which means reckoning, revelation, finding your place and purpose. Seems like you’ll be doing some self-reflection. Very positive.”</p><p>Ágata goes quiet, then. Andrés only twitches and looks away from Martín and Sergio when she kicks him lightly. He stares at her, surprised at the demand of attention. Surprised even more by the soft expression she’s wearing.</p><p>“You know,” she says, “it’s alright if you thought you were one thing, but it's turning out you were something else.”</p><p>They barely know each other, but she knows, somehow. Maybe he’s being obvious, letting his guard slip because of the alcohol, the atmosphere of the party, the exhaustion he feels after Beatriz. </p><p>Either way, he only nods at her. The decision has already been made. He’s simply going to savor it a little bit more, the wait, the tension, the glances. The fact that Andrés knows what is due to happen, while Martín probably doesn’t, he probably isn’t sure, even though he must be <em> feeling </em>it, sensing it, like a thrill. </p><p>Andrés gets to his feet, deciding to join in on the dancing.</p><p> </p><p>It’s 2.30 in the morning and all of them are drunk, fucking themselves up more by playing Never Have I Ever, sprawled out on the couch, on the floor, on the mattress that Martín has pulled out of his room. Arctic Monkeys are playing from the speaker, perfect for the lazy final hours of the party, when everyone is tired and everything is blurry. </p><p>Martín is leaning against Andrés’ shoulder, some of the body paint smeared down by sweat. He looks debauched. Beautiful. Andrés has one hand on his bare knee, like the most natural thing in the whole world. But he wants more.</p><p>“Share a cigarette?” he asks quietly against his hair, and Martín nods. They stumble a little as they pull themselves up. On their way out of the door, Andrés spares a look at the others, who continue playing the game, even though Sergio is looking right back at him, his eyes bright and focused. The bastard must have been cheating, Andrés realizes, he’s definitely sober. Well, more sober than everyone else.</p><p>“If anyone dares to throw up, there will be murder,” Andrés states, ever the master of the house. </p><p> </p><p>He puts his hand on Martín’s back as they walk up the stairs. Martín surely knows why. He has to know, at this point. They reach the attic and Andrés lets go of him to open the door to his studio. They slip inside, he closes the door and Martín walks over to the window, but Andrés doesn’t. </p><p>“Martín.”</p><p>His voice is hoarse. Martín turns around and looks at him, his gaze heated, eyes glazed over already. Nothing happened yet.</p><p>“Come here.”</p><p>He does, slowly, and stands before Andrés. His eyes widen as Andrés gets down on one knee and puts his hands on the back of Martín’s thighs, not breaking eye contact.</p><p>“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier tonight.”</p><p>The breath that Martín takes is shaky, but what he says is wonderful.</p><p>“You’ll have to see for yourself.”</p><p>Andrés smiles. The effects of alcohol are strengthened by this, by the way Martín is looking at him, by the way his skin is burning under Andrés’ touch. Andrès is burning, too, and light-headed, dizzy, as he slides his hands up, below the skirt of the tunic, as Martín shivers and lets out a quiet whimper.</p><p>The tips of Andrés’ fingers meet the seam of Martín’s underwear, right below his ass. He clicks his tongue.</p><p>“Not as much of a naughty boy after all, are you?”</p><p><em> A boy</em>. Who would have thought.</p><p>It’s still not it, still not decisive, not enough. Andrès stands back up, Martín watching him closely, attentively, sensible to each and every move. Andrés puts his hands on his hips, pulls him in, flush against him.</p><p>He had almost kissed him back then, in the backroom of <em> Dali’s</em>. He’s been thinking about it for a while now, but he wants <em> Martín </em>to show him his desire, to show him his cards. Andrés is sure after tonight. The costume was for him. An offering. Andrés is sure, but Martín is still studying his face, looking for assurance, for permission. This won’t fly. </p><p>Andrés turns them around, steps forward and pushes Martín against the wall, pressing himself impossibly closer. Martín groans quietly, but Andrés won’t kiss him just like that, no. He tightens his grip on Martín’s hips, he leans in and nuzzles the side of his face, listening to the uneven breaths, feeling just how hot he is for him, but he needs more, he needs him <em> vulnerable</em>. He wants Martín to break apart and give in.</p><p>A second later, Martín does. He grabs Andrés’ arms and tilts his head just right, and dives in, and <em> kisses him. </em></p><p>The world changes its axis, rearranges itself and every bit and piece of it falls into the right place.</p><p>Andrés feels relief, and love, and hunger.</p><p>He kisses back, forceful and demanding, and Martín is <em> perfect </em>in the way he opens his mouth for him, his arms coming up to wrap themselves around Andrés’ neck. They’re a nice weight, a welcomed one, grounding and overwhelming all at the same time, pulling him in, dragging him down, making him melt.</p><p>Martín tastes of alcohol and sweet oranges. <em> Fanta, </em>Andrés realizes and he laughs into his mouth, trying to taste more of it, his tongue chasing after the flavor. </p><p>He’s vaguely aware of the sounds. There’s the muffled music from downstairs, the bass louder than anything else, there’s the sound of their mouths meeting again and again, wet and sloppy and amazing, making him snap his hips forward, the friction causing them both to groan.</p><p>His hands are roaming all over Martín’s body now and he’s sure they must be covered in bronze paint by now; he needs it all over himself, he needs it more than air.</p><p>There’s no bed in the studio, no mattress, but Andrés doesn’t care, and neither does Martín. </p><p>That’s the whole beauty of it - in that moment, nothing matters. There’s no finesse to it, no holding back, just pure love and need and understanding, just the two of them, together, closer than ever, feverish, wanton, burning, like the sun that will greet them in the morning.</p><p>The sun that will see them changed, transformed, different. Better.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Good morning!<br/>Especially good morning to the lovebirds sdfghj</p><p>Huge huge huge thanks to Shotgun for being my beta for this one and to dashwood for bonus linguistic consultations.<br/>Catch us three, not a single native, trying to figure this out.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thank God for Raquel. </p><p><em> Do you want to sleep over at my place?, </em>she had asked when the party was coming to an inevitable end, Andrés and Martín still upstairs. Normally, Sergio would be celebrating his victory, but he was tired and afraid of what his eyes could possibly be met with if he'd decided to stay in the apartment.</p><p>Thank God for Raquel, who had understood the problem immediately, who had dragged Sergio to her house, who had <em> spooned </em>him as they slept. </p><p>Thank God for her mother who made him pancakes in the morning. Not that Sergio doesn't enjoy his breakfasts with Andrés and Martín, but it felt <em> different, </em>it felt like getting back some of the life that the deaths of his parents have taken away from him. Mariví is warm and loving, and gentle. Like a mother should be. </p><p>Sergio barely remembers his mom. Andrés rarely talks about her. He must be hurt, is what Sergio thinks, it must have hurt him that she’d left, that she’d built a new family. <em> If </em> Andrés ever mentions her, he always calls her <em> mamá, </em> though, so he must have loved her. Sergio is no psychoanalyst, but he saw how hard Andrés has been trying to create something of a family, going about it the wrong way, yes, but still.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says to Mariví before turning his gaze towards Raquel. “Wish me luck.”</p><p>She gives him a bright smile, nodding.</p><p> </p><p>"So… You may have noticed that we disappeared last night," Andrés says, his tone casual, as he leans against the counter and stares out of the window. Martín is sitting at the table, rubbing at the back of his neck. </p><p>It's so awkward. Sergio wants to bolt.</p><p>"You hooked up," he states, looking between the two of them. "It's fine."</p><p>"Yes," Andrés nods, one of his hands coming up to fiddle with his collar. "That changes some things."</p><p>It's incredible. The two are actually keeping a distance. They keep stealing glances at each other, but they're being- shy, almost? No, not shy. </p><p>They're shocked, Sergio realizes. Well, it makes sense. Martín just got more than he thought he was allowed to have, and Andrés just slept with another boy for the first time. A lot of discoveries for one night. </p><p>Sergio wants to laugh. </p><p>"Not much will change, though," Andrés hurries to explain, as if wanting to reassure him. "I mean, we have always been inseparable anyway, so."</p><p>Martín groans, clearly sensing that this conversation is going nowhere. He gets to his feet and walks over to Andrés, opening the cupboard next to him and pulling out coffee. </p><p>Andrés watches him attentively.</p><p>"Will you make one for me, too?" he asks and it doesn't sound tentative, but it does sound a bit like testing the waters. </p><p>"Of course," Martín says. As he reaches for the mugs, however, Andrés grabs his hands and pulls him closer, studying them carefully. He drags his thumb over Martín's palm before looking up and flashing him a lopsided smile. Martín smiles back. </p><p>Alright, then. All is well. They are very much in love, even if they seem to be freaking out about it.</p><p>To be honest, Sergio is impressed with his brother. He can’t imagine what it must feel like to try something as new as this, to be with another boy when he’s been so attached to his identity; so careful and precise about it, too. It’s evident that Andrés doesn’t know how to behave, not act, how to function without a mask.</p><p>He’s been acting ever since Sergio has known him, but truth is: Sergio loves him most when he lets himself slip. When he’s being honest and open, the way he is with Martín more than with anyone else. More than with Sergio, because with him, he’s often trying to be a parent. Not that Sergio minds. He does appreciate it, in a way.</p><p>“You will have to get used to this,” Andrés says, still holding Martín’s hands in his. As if! They are the ones who are <em> getting used to it, </em>not Sergio. </p><p>“I kind of did with the whole <em> fake dating </em>business,” Sergio shrugs, tapping his fingers against the table.</p><p>“Yes,” Andrés says and then, he frowns. “Yes, you did, didn’t you?”</p><p>
  <em> Oh no. Abort mission, step back, too close to the truth. </em>
</p><p>“Not that I’m not surprised, I wouldn’t have expected <em> this</em>, not in a million years,” Sergio adds quickly. “But it’s fine, it’s okay, I’m happy for you both.”</p><p>Andrés is still looking at him, but he nods. Sergio decides not to mention the fake dating again. It’s all in the past now.</p><p> </p><p>That Saturday afternoon is a slow one, like many before. All three of them are slightly hungover and tired from the lack of sleep; Sergio forces Andrés and Martín to clean up at least a little bit, though, before they all stretch out in the living room and Andrés puts on some art history documentary. Sergio spends most of the time on his phone, but he keeps glancing towards his brother and Martín.</p><p>He had seen them being affectionate, but this is different. This is a new level. Martín has his legs thrown over Andrés’ lap, leaning against him, his hands fiddling with the hem of Andrés’ shirt. Andrés, for his part, has an arm wrapped around him, cheek resting on the top of his head, his fingers running up and down Martín’s leg.</p><p>Strangest of all, they’re quiet. Calm and quiet.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>To: Raquel Murillo</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Relationship confirmed. I mean, I’m not sure how willing they are to call themselves a ‘couple’ yet, but they are currently cuddling, so.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>From: Raquel Murillo</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Good ;) you should consider becoming a professional matchmaker. Who’s next? Señora Hernandez and Señor Torres? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>To: Raquel Murillo</b>
</p><p>
  <em> You think it would make them back off? We should think about it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He’s almost falling asleep, the buzz of his phone when a new text arrives barely enough to keep him awake. Until, that is, someone bangs at the door and they all jump. Both Andrés and Martín must have been close to drifting off, too, because they look disheveled and annoyed.</p><p>Sergio drags himself off the armchair and goes to open the door, expecting to see Ágata, who of course would be excited to know if their plan had worked or not.</p><p>He sees Beatriz and almost shuts the door in her face, but she speaks before he can do as much.</p><p>“You slimy little piece of shit!”</p><p>She steps into the apartment, forcing him to move backwards with a finger pressed to his chest.</p><p>Sergio’s heart drops to his stomach. <em> She knows. </em>She hasn’t even said anything yet, but her presence, her anger, can only mean one thing. She knows and Sergio is basically dead.</p><p>“What’s going on? What are <em> you </em> doing here?” Andrés walks up to them, scowling, his tone cold and detached, disdainful. “Shall I remind you, dear Beatriz, that you broke up with me yesterday?”</p><p>“Turns out, your asshole of a <em> brother </em>broke us up,” Beatriz snaps.</p><p>Andrés’ eyes widen. Above his shoulder, Sergio can see Martín, looking <em> terrified</em>, frozen in his spot near the couch. Then, Andrés looks at <em> him, </em>and Sergio feels the blood in his veins chill upon that gaze. Andrés has never looked at him like that before. Never.</p><p>“She’s lying!” he manages and it’s such a dumb thing to say, why isn’t his brain working the way it’s supposed to? He should be able to find a solution, a-... a way to save himself, to save the plan, but it’s all falling apart <em> right at the end </em> and it’s so unexpected, it leaves him shocked, helpless.</p><p>“Is she now?” Andrés drawls, but he turns his gaze to Beatriz, raising an eyebrow. There’s a small smirk playing on his lips, but there’s nothing nice about it. “Do you have proof? Why should I believe your word over my brother’s?”</p><p>Beatriz pulls out her phone. <em>Oh no.</em> Sergio actually closes his eyes at that.</p><p>“I have been asking around about the company that sent me an offer and then withdrew it. Nobody knew anything about it. There was a site for it, but it wasn’t listed <em> anywhere </em>among other cosmetic companies. Not a single word about it on the Internet. So I asked a friend to check the IP address and track it down. The emails have been sent from here. And you know what else? I also asked him to check the IP of the most vicious trolls, the ones responsible for most of the hate. Same address.”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence. Then, Andrés’ voice.</p><p>“That doesn’t change the fact that your social media was of more importance to you than I was. Not to mention the water splashed into my face. Get out, Beatriz.”</p><p>Sergio breathes a sigh of relief and opens his eyes to see Beatriz grinning. Not a good sign.</p><p>“Oh, I have no intention of getting back together with you, you bastard. I only dropped in to let you know that your perfect <em> hermanito </em>has been plotting against you.”</p><p>With that, Beatriz walks out. Andrés closes the door behind her. Sergio only has a few seconds to think how <em> stupid </em>he had been, how he underestimated the enemy, dumbly believing that Beatriz would never make the effort to check the IP address- </p><p>Then, Andrés turns around and fixes him with a stare before heading to Sergio’s bedroom, brushing past Martín, who steps away without a word. Sergio runs after him as he storms into the room and starts digging through his things.</p><p>“Andrés-... You have no right, that’s mine, you-...! Okay, <em> fine</em>, it was me, I saw the ring and I freaked out, I didn’t want you to be unhappy with her! It worked out in the end, didn’t it?”</p><p>Andrés stills. Slowly, he straightens his back. Now, he’s definitely looking older than he really is.</p><p>“The book you were reading…” he says slowly, his eyes narrowing. “The <em> dating</em>…”</p><p>Sergio doesn’t fear his brother. He doesn't. He almost does, now.</p><p>Andrés’ gaze lands on Martín, who’s been quiet this whole time.</p><p>“You.”</p><p>“Andrés, no-” Sergio tries, but he’s already walking past him and towards Martín.</p><p>“<em>Did you know about this? </em>”</p><p>He sounds angry, yes, but there’s a desperate edge to his tone; like he’s hoping for this not to be true. </p><p>“I-” Martín stammers. For a moment, Sergio sees him more vulnerable than ever. He’s pale, his eyes wide, mouth quivering. “I didn’t.”</p><p><em> No way, </em>Sergio thinks at first, but then he remembers Martín’s reaction when he found out about the plan. His desperation to keep things as they were. His fear, his panic, his disbelief and finally, how he was that morning, quiet and careful.</p><p>Andrés stares Martín down, the silence bordering on unbearable. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.</p><p>“You’re lying.”</p><p>Martín is getting tearful as he shakes his head, unable to say anything else. Andrés’ next words put an end to the whole farce, to every little idea in Sergio’s head, to every step of the plan and everything that came with it - the discussions with Raquel, the jokes exchanged with Ágata and Mirko, Martín’s uncontrollable laughter as he was putting on the bronze body paint. </p><p>Andrés’ next words are:</p><p>“Get out.”</p><p>Martín lets out a breathless whimper, but he doesn’t move. Sergio does, though, he steps closer, raises his hands up in surrender as he tries to talk some sense into Andrés, to tell him that he’s overreacting, that he needs to realize this is good- It’s a bad strategy. Sergio is failing. He’s failing miserably.</p><p>Andrés takes his wallet and puts on his shoes; he doesn’t change his clothes, though, he’s about to walk out wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He looks young again and Sergio fears <em> for him - </em> it feels as if the world could swallow him down.</p><p>Andrés doesn’t spare a single look in their direction as he steps out and shuts the door behind him.</p><p>The only things Sergio can hear are Martín’s shuddering breaths and his own thoughts. He can fix this. He <em> has </em> to fix this. Martín is here, they need to figure it out, figure out how to <em> talk </em> to Andrés. They need to be blunt and honest, this time, he’s already fallen for Martín, he <em> knows, </em>this time, they just have to wait and then, talk to him</p><p>“Martín-” Sergio looks up, but Martín isn’t there. He hears a thud coming from his room and as he walks in, he sees that Martín is packing his bag. </p><p>“No,” Sergio shakes his head. <em> Fuck</em>, everything is going to hell. Everything. “No, no, wait, you can’t just-”</p><p>“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do!” Martín yells, shoving some shirts into the bag. He straightens up and throws one of them at Sergio, too. “You just had to fucking meddle in! You fucking had to, you idiot, you had to go ahead and ruin everything, because you have to be right all the time, don’t you? Smart fucking Sergio, cocksure brat, Andrés’ fucking favourite just because you’re somewhat related, fuck that, fuck you!”</p><p>Sergio stares. He feels-... hurt. Martín is pacing his room like a wild animal, throwing things into the bag at random, spitting out curse after curse, as if he and Sergio weren’t friends, as if Sergio didn’t do it out of love, as if their broken family never even existed.</p><p>“Never had to prove your worth to anyone, huh?” Martín zips up the bag and throws it over his shoulder. “No, of course not, precious <em> Sergio, </em> you had your daddy and then you had your brother. You think you’re such a good guy? A manipulative, whiny, ungrateful <em> kid </em> is what you are! You don’t know <em> shit</em>!”</p><p>He actually pushes Sergio out of the way as he storms out of the room. </p><p>He's wrong. He doesn't know-</p><p>Sergio has never taken things for granted, not when he had lost so much already, his mom, his dad, his health; not when it was so difficult to <em> find </em>anything, like friends, or a place where he would feel like he belonged, or a family.</p><p>However, yes. He had been too self-assured. Still, he was <em> right </em> about Andrés and Martín, and he's right now, following Martín to the door.</p><p>"Stay, we'll work it out-" </p><p>"Are you deaf, perhaps?!" Martín spins to face him, tears glistening in his eyes although he's not crying. "Andrés doesn't want me here. He doesn't want me, he-" </p><p>Martín can't say it. </p><p>He shakes his head. He walks out, closes the door, and Sergio is alone. </p><p>It's not as painful as when his dad died. But just as he did back then, Sergio blames himself. Just as then, silence stretches around him, loud and hollow and insistent.</p><p> </p><p>Thank God for Raquel, who stays. Who shrugs and says: <em> Well, you meant well. </em>They spend the whole weekend together, hanging around the empty apartment, out of place even though technically, it's Sergio's home. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>To: Andrés </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Where are you? Are you okay?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>To: Andrés </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm sorry. Come home so we can talk.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>To: Martín Berrote</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Where have you gone? Did Andrés talk to you? I can't get in touch with him. Call me back.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>From: Ágata Jiménez </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Martín is at my place. He's in pieces. What the fuck happened? &gt;:((( </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>To: Andrés </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Pick up your fucking phone </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>To: Andrés </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Just let me know if you're okay </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Anything?" Raquel asks on Tuesday, leaning in as Señor Delgado turns towards the chalkboard to draw out some equation. </p><p>"Nothing," Sergio mutters, head bowed as he fiddles with his phone underneath the desk. "I should have put a tracking device on him, I swear to God."</p><p>"Marquina!" Delgado snaps, making them both jump. The man absolutely despises Sergio ever since he'd pointed out an error in his calculations during a school inspection. "I've seen you playing on your phone. Hand it over.”</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Hand it over right this moment or I'll make sure you get suspended."</p><p>Sergio is on the verge of breaking. The empty apartment is terrifying, Martín hates him, Andrés is either hurt or he hates Sergio, too. The deadline for the rent is a week away, and Sergio barely has any savings left for food, let alone anything else. </p><p>He grabs his backpack and gets up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.<br/><br/>“Where do you think you are going?!”</p><p>Sergio stops in the doorway for a moment and turns towards his teacher.</p><p>“Fuck you,” he says and walks out.</p><p> </p><p>By the time he reaches the flat, he’s slightly out of breath. He’s walked all the way, his steps quick, his body tense from the stress of the past few days. It will never not amaze him how everything in life can fall apart so quickly, like a house of cards. One wrong move and it all goes down right before your eyes.</p><p>Sergio steps into the apartment and drops his keys when he sees Andrés sitting on the couch.</p><p>A part of him wants to lash out, demand where he has been, why he hadn’t replied to his texts or picked up the phone. A bigger part of him, however, is so relieved to see him that he walks over to the couch, falls to his knees and wraps his arms around Andrés, close to sobbing.</p><p>He’s pretty sure that this is the lesson Andrés wanted to give him, that this is the outcome he had in mind when he was ignoring Sergio, but Sergio is too happy to see him to really care.</p><p>Andrés’ hand comes up to stroke his hair and Sergio breathes a sigh of relief before he pulls back a little.</p><p>“You’re grounded,” Andrés says.</p><p>“You need to talk to Martín,” Sergio replies right away.</p><p>Andrés stands up abruptly, his expression unreadable.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Andrés, but he <em> left- </em>”</p><p>“Exactly. And I’m leaving again, too, if you mention it again.”</p><p>Sergio doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Well, to be fair, Sergio manages not to mention it for a whole week before he can’t take it anymore. There’s still Martín’s stuff everywhere, Andrés is absolutely <em> miserable </em> despite his attempts not to show it and everything feels entirely wrong. Sergio snaps one evening as they’re munching on dinner that he had only <em> slightly </em>overcooked.</p><p>“He didn’t know all of it,” he dares to say, not looking up from his plate, keeping his voice low and his tone as casual as possible. He twists the fork into the disgustingly soft pasta, but doesn’t bring it up to his mouth. “He was actually really angry when he found out.”</p><p>There’s a moment of heavy silence before Andrés speaks.</p><p>“Was he now?”</p><p>Thank <em> fuck. </em></p><p>“Yes,” Sergio hurries to say, turning his eyes to his brother. Andrés doesn’t return the gaze, staring at the wall, carefully indifferent. “It was right before the party, and he didn’t know what I'd done to Beatriz, and he was-... He didn’t want to be a part of it, he didn’t believe that it would work out, he was <em> scared. </em>Scared of losing you.”</p><p>“My, would you look at the irony,” Andrés smiles lazily and Sergio wants to punch him, but he doesn’t. It pays off, because the smirk soon disappears, replaced by something very close to weariness. “It’s about the lies, Sergio. The lack of trust. The lack of <em> faith</em>. He never told me any of it. Do both of you take me for an idiot? For someone to be fooled, manipulated? Someone completely hollow, who would never think for himself?”</p><p>He sounds disappointed. He sounds sad. It’s worse than anger, but better than nothing. Sergio shakes his head, eyes wide, but doesn’t know what to say.</p><p>“Or maybe you think me cruel, hm? You thought I wouldn’t come back, didn’t you?” Andrés goes on, tapping his fingers against the table. “I believe I did everything I could to show you I care about you. Same goes for Martín. He never <em> talked </em> to me about this, never made a move, nothing. And he <em> lied </em>to me. What was he thinking, that if I didn’t love him back, I would have hurt him?”</p><p>Finally, Sergio chimes in; quietly, almost shyly.</p><p>“But you do. And you did.”</p><p>It’s a huge risk. It can end up in Andrés yelling at him, throwing him out, leaving himself. It can end up ugly, with both of them getting defensive, worked-up and emotional. </p><p>Accusing Andrés directly of doing something wrong is almost a suicide mission, with less than 5% success rate. For the four years that they’ve known each other, Andrés has only ever admitted to minor misconducts, like that one time he broke the nose of Sergio’s classmate (<em>I may have overreacted</em>) or when he’d mixed up the colors with the whites while on laundry duty (<em>fine, I made a mistake, crucify me, why don’t you</em>).</p><p>Usually, Andrés pretends not to understand the problem. He seems to believe that if you ignore something for long enough, it will disappear.</p><p>This time, however, he sighs, rubbing at his temple.</p><p>“It was only fair.”</p><p>Sergio stares at him, at the small crease between his brows, at the hands digging into the skin right by his hairline. Slowly, he smiles, despite everything that’s been said.</p><p>“Headache?” he asks innocently.</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>Sergio gets to his feet and walks over to the cupboard to pull out the coffee and mugs - two of them, the third one standing on the shelf, all by itself. </p><p>“Maybe your blood pressure is just low,” he explains, shrugging. “Caffeine may help for a bit, but I think you need something else.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Andrés asks and throws him a look, a glimmer of interest in his eyes, a spark of humor that’s been absent for the past week. </p><p>“Well, it’s your choice. I’m not pressuring you into anything here.”</p><p>He’s still being careful. More than before, that’s for sure.</p><p>Luckily, Andrés nods, letting out a heavy breath.</p><p>“Where are we going, then?”</p><p>Sergio’s phone is already in his hand. He opens up the Uber app and types in the address he’d asked about beforehand <em> just in case.  </em></p><p>“To Ágata’s house.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, dear readers.</p><p>Frankly, I don't know what to say about this chapter. Maybe I'll just say I really enjoyed writing it? I hope you find it to your liking.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martín can't sleep. Not unless he drinks something before bed, but Ágata had introduced strict prohibition on the third day of their co-existing. She's a nightmare, but he has nowhere else to go. He <em> could </em>go to Mirko, but that would mean having to look at him and his boyfriend being affectionate, and Martín-</p><p>Martín can't deal with that.</p><p>Not when Andrés has been like that with him, when Andrés has been so close for a whole night, their breaths mixing together, bodies melting into one another, and the next morning, in front of Sergio, he was still affectionate. It was slightly awkward, as if everything had shifted a little, but it was nice. Andrés was trying. </p><p>Martín can't sleep, he tosses and turns on the mattress, unable to stop thinking about Andrés' mouth on his, about his wide smile, about his voice, whispering in his ear: <em> Do you like that?  </em></p><p>He shudders, because the same voice had said: <em> Get out.  </em></p><p>Not that he blames him. </p><p>He's fucked up.</p><p>He should have never let Sergio convince him to take part in this whole farce, he was Andrés' friend, after all, first and foremost. He was being greedy, he'd abused his trust and now-</p><p>And now it's all over, just like that. </p><p>Just like that, he's left with nothing, without a place to go, without Andrés, without- fuck, without <em> Sergio</em>, too. He won't be forgiven. He's done, it's done, it's-</p><p>"<em>Cariño,</em>" Ágata's sleepy voice reaches his ears. The bed creaks as she moves. "You're freaking out again."</p><p>Martín realizes that his breathing has gone loud and uneven. Not crying, but dry sobbing. Great. Can a human get more pathetic?</p><p>He swallows with difficulty and sits up. </p><p>"Yeah, sorry. I'm gonna go outside for a while."</p><p>Martín is still angry at Ágata, of course. Same goes for Mirko, Sergio, Raquel. Himself, most of all. But Ágata had taken him in, and he can't let himself be thrown out <em> again.  </em></p><p>He has nowhere to go. </p><p>Oh <em> God, </em>he has nowhere to go. </p><p>He can't stay with her in her cramped studio apartment, he can't get his own flat, because he doesn't have the money, he definitely can't go back to his father.</p><p>The whole building is quiet as he slips out of the flat and sits down on the stairs, leaning against the cold, naked wall, running his hands through his hair. </p><p>He's going to have to look for roommates. <em> Ugh. </em></p><p>It's not like he won't manage. Somehow, he will, as he always has. Martín is used to being barely alive; to existing, to surviving. The thing is, he doesn't <em> want to. </em> It's been perfect with Andrés, it felt like he had found his place right there by his side. He doesn't want anything else. He wants to <em> whine. </em></p><p>The door to Ágata's apartment clicks and something soft gets thrown at his back. He picks it up; it's a blanket.</p><p>Ágata sits down next to him, wrapped up in a loose sweater. </p><p>"The last thing we need is for you to get sick," she says. "You have to get your ass back to work."</p><p>"I don't want to."</p><p>"Well, woe is you. You can't just sit around and mope."</p><p>Martín shrugs. He can and he will.</p><p>"I was in love with Mirko."</p><p>Now, <em> that's </em> something he wasn't expecting to hear. Not that he never noticed - as self-centred as he is, Martín is also pretty observant. It almost stopped him from hooking up with Mirko. <em> Almost.  </em></p><p>"I know. How does that help me?" </p><p>Ágata sighs, looking up as if praying for patience.</p><p>"Mirko was openly gay, so it was easier for me to accept that he would never be with me. You <em> thought </em>Andrés was straight, so you know the feeling. I know it's harder on you now that something has already happened between you two, but you have to understand, he's not the centre of the universe."</p><p>"He is to me," Martín says simply and Ágata stares at him for a moment before throwing her hands up in the air. </p><p>"I'm giving up," she declares, getting back to her feet. "You're your own fucking universe, I hope you'll realize."</p><p>She goes back to the flat. Martín leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. If he and Andrés were ever separate universes, they must have collided and blended into one, because Martín feels <em> bad </em> without him. He feels as if his heart is being ripped apart, shred by agonizing shred; he feels <em> incomplete, </em> inadequate, like a misplaced object.</p><p>Ágata was definitely right about one thing - it wouldn’t hurt as much if it weren’t for that night and half of the following day. It would still hurt like a motherfucker, but not <em> as much. </em>Now, he can’t stand the memory of Andrés’ touch.</p><p>How ardent he was, his hands burning every single place they’ve touched, unexperienced, yes, but not hesitant; how he and Andrés have laughed right afterwards, breathless, pressing their foreheads together; how Andrés dragged him into the shower, hot water washing away the paint as they’ve marveled at each other, hands and gazes lingering; how Martín could finally press his nose into the hollow of Andrés’ throat and breathe in his scent as they’ve slept, the bed in Andrés' room too small for the two of them.</p><p>How, the next day, Andrés kept sending him smiles, kept throwing him those glances that seemed to be saying: <em> There you are! There you are. You’ve always been here, and yet, how strange, how wonderful- there you are. </em></p><p>His hands and his lips and his love - Martín has known it all, and now he feels older, now he feels tired, now he doesn't feel like doing anything anymore. </p><p>He wants to disappear.</p><p> </p><p>The next day, Ágata goes to work for an afternoon shift and Martín tries to sleep the hours away, keeping his eyes closed, the blanket pulled over his head. He's hiding, licking his wounds, pathetic like an animal that's been chased away by its owner.</p><p>He only crawls out from under his cover when the growling of his stomach becomes unbearable. While he’s scavenging the kitchen for something to eat, his phone buzzes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>From: baby sergio</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Are you still at Ágata’s?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fuck.</p><p>He doesn’t want to see Sergio, doesn’t want to face him after everything that he had told the kid. He was <em> right </em>to be angry, of course, but he had basically given Sergio every reason to hate him with his impromptu speech. </p><p>Truth is, he <em> is </em>jealous of Sergio, always has been. Andrés cares about his brother unconditionally and honestly, Martín believes that he would forgive him anything. Martín, however? He’s dispensable.</p><p>He doesn’t reply to the text.</p><p>Instead, he turns his phone off. Sergio is a stubborn little bastard and he wouldn’t hesitate to call Ágata, who would in her turn harass Martín with texts and calls, trying to force him to talk to Sergio. He doesn’t want that. He wants to be left the fuck alone.</p><p> </p><p>The three rapid knocks to the door twenty minutes later nearly make Martín drop his bowl of cereal. He stares at the door with wide eyes, feeling like a deer caught in headlights, especially since excuse him very much, but he was in the middle of <em> something </em>- namely, in the middle of being a miserable fucking piece of shit, dressed in nothing but his boxers and a t-shirt, sitting on the counter and slowly munching on cereal so soaked up in milk already that it’s become completely disgusting.</p><p>It must be Sergio. It has to be. Insufferable little monster. He’s either hurt and wants to confront Martín, call him an asshole and tell him to fuck off forever, or worse, he’s going to be <em> reasonable. </em>Martín hates reasonable.</p><p>He considers playing dead, but Sergio knocks again. And again. <em> Fuck. </em>Martín decides to simply tell him off and goes to unlock the door.</p><p>Swinging it open, he’s already taking a breath to say: <em> get the fuck out, you’ve ruined my life, what else do you want</em>; he’s ready to completely shatter whatever bond he still has with Sergio, if only to avoid him trying to meddle in again, if only to avoid more heartbreak, if only to avoid hope that’s bound to be vain.</p><p>His breath hitches in his throat, however, because in the doorway stands Sergio, yes, but behind him, hands in his pockets, eyes piercing - <em> Andrés. </em></p><p>Martín immediately feels like crying. He takes a step back.</p><p>Andrés is staring right at him, his gaze unreadable.</p><p>“Martín,” Sergio nods at him, mildly uncomfortable. “Can we..?”</p><p>“Sure,” he says, shrugging. “It’s not my place anyway.”</p><p>Only when the words leave his mouth and Sergio winces does he realize what he had said, how did it sound, how <em> true </em>it is. It’s not his place. He doesn’t have a place anymore.</p><p>He wants to howl.</p><p>He doesn’t. Instead, he goes back to the kitchenette, Andrés and Sergio following him. They stand there, all three of them, in complete silence. No trace of familiarity, of comfort. Martín wants to crawl out of his skin. </p><p>“So…” Sergio starts, but Martín interrupts him:</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he babbles out, looking down at the floor. His voice is high, pathetically so, but his throat is so tight he barely manages not to burst into tears. If Sergio weren’t there, he would have. He would have thrown himself to Andrés’ feet. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what else to say. I know I fucked up, I know I shouldn’t have, I know, and I’m sorry, I-”<br/><br/>He looks up and shuts his mouth, because Andrés is holding up a hand. <em> Quiet, </em>the gesture says. Martín complies, scared to death but grateful for being spared from humiliating himself even more. </p><p>“Take a deep breath, mm? And exhale. Slowly.”</p><p>Martín does. The breath comes out shaky, almost turning into a sob. God, he’s disgusting. He’s disgusting and pathetic, and Andrés can see it now, it doesn’t matter anymore how hard Martín had tried, he’s broken, he’s a mess, it's showing now and who would ever want that? He’s fucked up, Andrés doesn’t want him anymore, he probably never did, Andrés was drunk, Andrés was manipulated, Andrés-</p><p>Andrés puts a hand at the back of his neck and pulls him in.</p><p>A part of him wants to bolt, to push Andrés away, because this is impossible, it’s not happening, there’s no way.</p><p>Then again, maybe Andrés just doesn’t want to end things on a sour note. Sergio has probably dragged him here to make sure they talk things out. <em> No hard feelings, have a nice life. </em> Not that Andrés would truly forgive him. He was tricked into a relationship, and Sergio had mentioned a <em> ring</em>, oh God, Andrés wanted to propose Beatriz, to-</p><p>“Martín. Calm down.”</p><p>He tries. He’s leaning against Andrés and he tries, the hand at the nape of his neck heavy and warm, the fingers pressing into his skin. Good. Grounding.</p><p>After a moment, the sharp, desperate gasps for air turn into short breaths, still panicked, but better. </p><p>Andrés lets him go. </p><p>Once they pull away, it’s Sergio who speaks up. </p><p>“The Uber is waiting downstairs.”</p><p>Martín stares. This is not happening. He turns his gaze towards Andrés, who’s not looking at him, though, but at Sergio.</p><p>“How about,” he says, “you grab Martín’s bag and take the car? We’ll walk. We have some talking to do, I believe.”</p><p>
  <em> Oh fuck, oh no. </em>
</p><p>“Sure. Your stuff is packed?” Sergio asks.</p><p>Martín nods. Then, he shakes his head.<br/><br/>“I mean-... give me a moment.”</p><p>It feels surreal, almost, to have the two of them watching as he gathers his things and puts on a pair of jeans; to have Sergo take his bag, throwing it over his shoulder. He gives Martín a tight-lipped smile before walking out. </p><p>“You do have the spare keys, I hope?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Martín murmurs, grabbing them from where they’re hanging on the hook by the door. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and turns it back on, typing out a quick message to let Ágata know he’s leaving, apparently.</p><p>“All done?” Andrés is standing in the middle of the room, seemingly relaxed. It’s weird. None of it is making any sense and Martín can’t help but expect for the other shoe to drop, for Andrés to inform him that he can stay for a while, but he has to start looking for a new place.</p><p>For now, they leave Ágata’s apartment together.</p><p> </p><p>They don’t walk straight home. Instead, they take the route up Manzanares, then over the old Segovia Bridge and through Campo del Moro. They’re walking past the places that Martín knows to be some of Andrés’ favourite in Madrid. Despite the slight chill in the air, the streets and alleys are filled with people, simply enjoying a pleasant evening. </p><p>Martín feels himself relax a little. They don’t talk for the better part of an hour, but the quiet becomes more and more comfortable; familiar, even, as they both take in the sights of the city that has been their home for so long. They share the love for everything that was made by human hands, the monuments and the buildings, art and architecture, old and new. </p><p>They stop near the fountain in Campo del Moro, Palacio Real towering above them, grand, magnificent, basked in the sun that's slowly slipping towards the horizon. Andrés stares at the palace as he breaks the silence.</p><p>“What were you apologizing for, Martín?”</p><p>His voice is calm and yet, Martín feels fear squeezing at his throat. He shivers, not as much due to the crisp air, but more because of the fact that he would rather keep walking the streets with Andrés, maybe - hopefully - forever, than have this conversation.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p>“For-... being greedy, I guess,” he mutters, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle.</p><p>“Greedy,” Andrés repeats, as if tasting the word, his eyes narrowing a little.</p><p>Wrong answer, then.</p><p>“Explain what you mean by that.”</p><p>Martín clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.</p><p>“I was-... your friend. Your confidante. You’ve taken me in and-... what we had, it felt like home. But I-” he takes a deeper breath, bitterness creeping into his voice, laced with frustration. “I’ve had to go and fuck it all up, because I wanted more.”</p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with wanting more,” Andrés says, gaze focused on the windows of Palacio Real that sharply reflect the sunlight. “Pull yourself out of your misery for once and think.”</p><p>Martín stares at him, surprised at the sudden harshness. Andrés is not the type to let irritation slip into his voice; even when angry, he’s usually cold, disdainful. This-... this feels like he really wants for Martín to <em> understand </em>something.</p><p>Of course he does, Martín realizes. They could always understand each other so well, every word, every glance. Their friendship was <em> easy, </em>natural. They could tell each other-</p><p>They could tell each other everything.</p><p>“I lied,” Martín says, his eyes widening in realization. “I lied to you.”</p><p>Andrés finally turns fully towards him, crossing his arms over his chest. He tilts his head to the side and even though his posture is nonchalant, his eyes are burning.</p><p>“I went behind your back,” Martín breathes.</p><p>“Yes,” Andrés nods. “Now, it took me some time and a talk with Sergio to understand why would you ever-... betray me like that. I think I get it now, but it doesn’t make things much better. So tell me. Why was it that you agreed to plot behind my back? Why did you lie when I asked you <em> directly </em>if you knew? Why, for God’s sake, didn’t you ever confess?”</p><p>“... I was scared.”</p><p>He sounds small; it’s a simple truth, but it hangs heavy between them.</p><p>Andrés smiles; it’s a sad smile, filled to the brim with emotions that Martín can’t quite grasp.</p><p>“Come on,” he says and turns on his heel, and heads towards the exit from the gardens. Martín follows.</p><p>“I was scared, alright? I didn’t-... I didn’t want to lose what I already had, is that so hard to understand?”<br/><br/>They walk out of Campo del Moro and they both take a glance, almost subconsciously, towards the Príncipe Pío station. Martín adores that building. </p><p>“Andrés,” he tries after a moment, waving his hands around, trying to catch up as Andrés marches quickly in the direction of Parque del Oeste, down the sidewalk and then up the low steps leading to the park. “Andrés, I didn’t want to lose you, <em> fuck, </em> just tell me what to do now, how to fix this, I’ll do <em> anything </em>-”</p><p>Andrés says nothing as he crosses the park in long steps. Martín doesn’t even consider not following him.</p><p>Finally, they reach what must have been their destination - Templo de Debod.</p><p>Even though Andrés’ tastes lean more towards ancient Rome or Greece than Egypt - Martín has called him <em> eurocentric </em>more than once - he still has a lot of appreciation for the 2200 years old temple, an extraordinary gift donated to Spain by the Egyptians.</p><p>It is beautiful - monumental, yet simple, two lone portals and the temple itself, the sand stone illuminated by the cleverly placed lights and the last rays of sun, the whole picture reflected by the water surrounding the complex in rectangular pools.</p><p>No matter how many times Martín gets to see the sunset there, it’s always breathtaking.</p><p>Even more when Andrés is there, in his long, dark overcoat, his hair tousled by the wind, elegant and solemn.</p><p>Martín doesn’t dare speak again, doesn’t dare to break the spell. Andrés turns towards him, however, with a strange look on his face.<br/><br/>“You should have told me.”</p><p>Martín doesn’t say anything, looking right back at him, straight into his eyes.</p><p>“You see it, don’t you? I’m not angry. I’m hurt,” Andrés smiles again, letting out a huff of breath. “What did you think would happen if you’d told me? Were you really so sure that I would, what, throw you out?”</p><p>“You did throw me out,” Martín reminds him quietly, but Andrés shakes his head.</p><p>“For entirely different reasons. How could you think that your love for me would ever make me mad? That I wouldn’t appreciate it, treasure it?”</p><p>“Would you?”</p><p>Andrés closes his eyes for a moment as he laughs, incredulous. </p><p>“Of course, Martín. Even if I didn’t love you back in the way you wanted me to, I would never simply dispose of you. If you have given me your heart and I had to break it, I would have done so gently,” he says, stepping closer. He puts his hand over Martín’s chest, fingers grazing his collarbone. Martín’s breath hitches in his throat for the thousandth time that day, although now, it feels <em> good. </em>It feels safe and warm. “I would have taken that beating thing out of your chest and carefully torn it apart, but I would have kept the pieces.”</p><p>Slowly, Martín puts his hand over Andrés’, fingers closing tightly around his. Andrés is no Werther; Martín is. Andrés is Achilles, young and immortal, and handsome, and wild, with soft skin and eyes ablaze.</p><p>“Do you believe me?”</p><p>Martín smiles.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Do you know why I dragged you through Madrid just now?”</p><p>“No,” he admits, pursing his lips.</p><p>“Because I wanted to show you some of the things I love about the city. Take this place,” Andrés says and pulls away a little to turn his head towards the temple. It’s getting dark quickly now, with the sun gone, but the lights illuminating the stone building make the lines of Andrés’ face even sharper than usual. Beautiful. “A piece of another culture, taken down and raised back up here, in Spain. Ancient. Timeless. Still, it’s not my favourite thing in Madrid. Do you know what is?”</p><p>“No,” Martín says again. Truth is, he kind of likes this game. He’s perfectly capable of crafting speeches of his own, and he knows Andrés would let him, but he likes this. He needs this. He could listen to Andrés for hours.</p><p>“My favourite thing came from a country even further away from here than Egypt; it came here all the way from Argentina,” Andrés says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, lifting one of them higher than the other, and Martín’s jaw nearly drops. “I sometimes think it must have arrived here especially for me.”</p><p>Martín is honestly surprised by the way laughter tears itself out of his throat, coming deep from his lungs.</p><p>“Are you fucking kidding me?”</p><p>He’s about to mock Andrés for being sappy like that, or fall to his knees and thank him for taking him back, or say something stupid like: <em> I love you so much</em>, but before he can do any of that, Andrés goes on a full-on rampage of sappiness, because he takes off his overcoat and hands it to Martín.</p><p>“Here. It’s only gonna get colder.”</p><p>“Won’t you be cold?”</p><p>Andrés smirks.</p><p>“<em>Please. </em>I have my suit jacket. I can take care of myself, contrary to some people I happen to know.”</p><p> </p><p>They go home. On the way, Martín briefly wonders if they really are okay, if they’re friends again or if, maybe, possibly, Andrés’ words meant more. <em> Even if I didn’t love you back, </em>he had said.</p><p>Martín wonders briefly, but he doesn’t dwell on it, because Andrés’ coat is enveloping him in pleasant warmth as he puts up the collar and buries his nose in it, unashamedly, breathing in his scent.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank <em> fuck</em>,” Sergio says when they walk into the flat. “I was worried one of you was dead in a ditch, you were gone for so long.”</p><p>“Aw,” Martín grins, taking off the coat - not without regret. “You were <em> worried, </em>how cute, Sergio.”</p><p>Sergio groans, rolling his eyes, and gets to his feet, probably meaning to go to his room and call Raquel to tell her that his bastard brother and his bastard friend are alright after all, but before he can open the door Martín walks over to him and pulls him into a tight hug.</p><p>It’s so annoying that he had to pull him <em> down </em>to hug him.</p><p>Sergio returns the gesture, letting out a small, relievied sigh before they pull apart. He smiles.</p><p>“We’re good?” Martín asks.</p><p>“Yeah. We’re good.”</p><p> </p><p>The evening is calm, cozy, with Sergio ever the teenager locked in his room while Martín is sitting with Andrés in the kitchen, going through his notes, intent on attending classes again tomorrow. Andrés is reading - it’s the book about bisexuality that Sergio had bought, but Martín doesn’t ask.</p><p>He won’t ask.</p><p>He’s happy to be back home, to spend time with Andrés in the cramped kitchen, curled up in the chair, the radio playing quietly. He looks up and sees their reflections in the window, and smiles. He doesn’t think about whatever will happen in the next few days or weeks, doesn’t let himself think about Andrés finding someone else, he’s happy now. He’s happy now.</p><p>It’s past midnight when Andrés closes the book and yawns, stretching his arms above his head.</p><p>“I’m going to bed,” he says, getting up. </p><p>Martín glances at him.</p><p>“Mm, goodnight,” he hums and turns back to his notes, tired himself, but determined <em> not </em>to let any professor try to drag him for his absences by asking a tricky question. </p><p>Andrés doesn’t move away, though, and puts one hand on the back of Martín’s chair. Slowly, Martín raises his head to see that Andrés has leaned down and now, their faces are centimeters apart. </p><p>“Goodnight.”<br/><br/>His breath ghosts over Martín’s cheek and he doesn’t move away. Martín stares. He’s not sure. He’s probably stupid, but he’s not sure. No way he could ever be that lucky.</p><p>Andrés, however, drops his gaze for a moment before looking up again. And then, he tilts his head slightly to the side.</p><p>Oh <em> fuck, </em> Martín <em> is </em>that lucky.</p><p>He parts his lips and closes the small distance between them, catching Andrés’ upper lip in a soft kiss, feeling him smile as he does so. Somehow, it’s even better than the first time, because it’s a <em> goodnight kiss. </em>A goodnight- </p><p>Martín never thought he would get one of those.</p><p>He almost melts on the spot when Andrés kisses back, when he bumps their noses together lightly before pulling away and taking a step back. He turns away, then, about to leave Martín breathless in the kitchen.</p><p>But he doesn't. Instead, he looks over his shoulder.</p><p>“Are you coming?”</p><p>Martín slips out of the chair and nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to get to Andrés and kiss him again.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning: there's a lot of kisses</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he'd heard him, his heart broke a little.</p><p>Andrés expected for Martín to be miserable over their fight, of course, but he didn't expect him to give up hope completely, just like that. He saw him and he thought him beautiful, red eyes and pale cheeks, but when he'd heard him-</p><p>It's been almost two weeks now, but the memory is still fresh in his mind. </p><p>It was all in the breath, the short, desperate sobs that shook Martín's entire frame as Andrés held him. It was as if he was in physical pain.</p><p>Andrés never wants to hear those sounds again.</p><p>He prefers the breathless laughter against his lips.</p><p>"Go to sleep," he murmurs when Martín kisses him again; he lets him, still, despite the faint protest, because Martín's lips are delicious.</p><p>"In a moment."</p><p>Andrés grins, tightening his grip on Martín's waist to keep him from falling off the bed. He should definitely get a new one, a double. He's never bothered before, instead choosing to sleep over at his girlfriends' places or taking them to hotels.</p><p>With Martín, however? They <em> live </em>together. Like a proper couple. It's insane. Even Clara didn't move in, in the end, they were planning on it, but they broke up mere two weeks after the wedding, so it never happened. </p><p>Martín already lives with him and Andrés can't quite imagine <em> not </em>sharing the bed. This single one doesn't fucking work, however, and neither does the mattress in Martín's room, for obvious reasons. </p><p>Martín never got himself a bed in the two years since he'd moved in. Andrés doesn't want to ask why. He has his suspicions and he doesn't like them. </p><p>"Don't you have classes in the morning?" he asks quietly, his lips brushing against Martín's as he speaks. Not that he wants him to stop, but he's trying to be a supportive boyfriend, thank you very much.</p><p><em> Boyfriend. </em> It still makes him snicker sometimes.</p><p>"I do," Martín all but purrs before pressing another kiss to Andrés' mouth. God, it's addicting. Martín's kisses are more like caresses, adoring and sensual, his lips feverish and determined. "I'm gonna be so sleepy. I'm going to need something to keep me awake during the lectures, I think."</p><p>Ah, the sexting. </p><p>"We aren't allowed to do that since the incident, remember?" </p><p>The incident being Andrés accidentally sending a picture of himself to Sergio. It wasn't <em> that </em> indecent, luckily, just his hand over his boxers and Andrés personally thinks that it was a very nice photo, composition- and perspective-wise, but Sergio didn't appreciate much. <em> Traumatizing, </em>he'd said. </p><p>Well, not everyone has an eye for art.</p><p>Martín sighs and shifts a little, propping himself up on his elbow.</p><p>"I can't really help it, you're the hottest. Have I told you that recently? So hot."</p><p>"Look who's talking."</p><p>Martín laughs, leaning back down to press his nose into Andrés' neck. </p><p>Andrés is still discovering new things that he loves about him. He knew of course that Martín was handsome and overall wonderful, but now he gets to see him truly <em> happy. </em>It's breathtaking. </p><p>He wraps both arms tightly around him and closes his eyes. </p><p>They're going to need a bigger bed, but for now, this works. </p><p>
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</p><p>The whole month of November is one for trying new things. </p><p>Andrés is not used to dating a man. That's one thing. He's not used to dating someone who's also his friend. That's another. For Andrés, romance and friendship have always been separated. </p><p>Not anymore. </p><p>He has trouble finding middle ground. Grand romantic gestures, with Martín, seem silly. His <em> modus operandi </em>has no use.</p><p>Furthermore, Andrés finds himself- not ashamed, no. Never that. Worried. Not exactly sure whether to show his affections in public or not. He doesn't want to seem <em> weak, </em>he doesn't want that neither for himself nor for Martín. </p><p>"Internalized homophobia," Raquel says, sipping on her coffee.</p><p>Andrés is scandalized. </p><p>"Excuse me? I'm <em> dating </em>him."</p><p>"It's not like Martín is that open about his sexuality, either," Sergio says, looking at where Martín is arguing with Ágata over <em> Dalí's </em>Christmas blend recepture. "With us, sure, but he does have a hard time coming out to people, doesn't he?" </p><p>"He does," Andrés sighs. </p><p>He lets himself think about this for a while, reads up on the Internet a little and as the days slip into December, cold and unforgiving, Andrés figures this:</p><p>He's been so used to seeing himself with women that he's experiencing some sort of cognitive dissonance. Martín, on the other hand, has been bullied before and it must have impaired him greatly. </p><p>Nevertheless, they both are superior to the common rubble and therefore, <em> clearly </em> a power couple, no, <em> the </em>power couple that the world does not deserve, but shall admire.</p><p>With that in mind, one windy, rainy afternoon, he decides to go and fetch Martín after his classes are over.</p><p>He checks Martín’s schedule that he has saved on his phone - five minutes and he should be done with Quantum Mechanics. Perfect.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>To: Martín 🌔🍑😘</b>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm here to pick you up. Don't run out too fast, though ;)  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Andrés puts his phone back into his pocket and waits patiently. The rain is pounding heavily against his black umbrella, but he’d rather stay outside than march into the university building. Aesthetics are important and frankly, he must be looking absolutely amazing like that - a mysterious man in dark clothing, standing in-between puddles on a miserable, grey afternoon.</p><p>A moment later, students start pouring out of the building, all of them groaning at the rain - all of them save for Martín, who grins at the sight of Andrés. As if the sun came out, Andrés thinks.</p><p>Martín walks over to him, self-assured and almost cocky, based on the way he holds himself.</p><p>He doesn’t know yet that he’s in for a <em> treat. </em></p><p>Once he’s close enough, Andrés takes the last step that separates them, wraps an arm around his waist and kisses him, going as far as dipping him down a little.</p><p>“Mm-!” is the sound Martín manages to make before he lets the air out heavily through his nose and relaxes into the kiss. Andrés holds him like that for a moment before straightening up.</p><p>Martín stares with wide eyes.</p><p>“What was <em> that </em>for?” </p><p>“For the people to see,” Andrés says simply. He doesn’t look around to check if anyone’s attention is on them - he <em> knows </em>it is and besides, looking at Martín’s flushed cheeks is way better.</p><p>“I-... alright,” Martín murmurs, frowning in confusion, but hiding happiness. As if he could ever hide anything from Andrés, ever again.</p><p>“Come on,” Andrés says and does another thing they haven’t done before - he offers Martín his hand. </p><p>Martín blinks in surprise, looks up and into his eyes to look for clues - and he finds them, because his face splits in a grin. He reaches for Andrés’ hand, then stops. Andrés watches, amused, as Martín catches the tip of his woolen glove with his teeth and pulls a little before swifty taking it all the way off with his other hand. He stuffs the glove into his pocket and only then, wraps his fingers around Andrés’. Skin on skin.</p><p>Andrés has been out in the cold for a long moment now; Martín’s hand is wonderfully warm in his own.</p><p>
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</p><p>There are certain periods of time where everything just falls into place; no matter how long or short, these periods are to be greatly appreciated, Andrés believes, and their potential should never be wasted.</p><p>He earns a whole lot of money thanks to his latest commissioned robbery, possibly the last one before the holidays. He makes use of the one secret that is his due since Martín and Sergio had spectacularly betrayed his trust and he doesn’t tell them neither about the cash, nor about his plans.</p><p>It’s going to be a Christmas surprise.</p><p> </p><p>“You want to see the <em> floating lights</em>?”</p><p>“Stop quoting <em> Tangled </em> every year, I swear to God<em>. </em>”</p><p>Sergio shrugs and goes back to folding paper chains for their Christmas tree. It’s not much of a tree, not very impressive, but it’s nearly falling over under the weight of the decorations.</p><p>Andrés looks up to see Martín setting up a <em> globo, </em> a paper lantern - not unlike the ones in <em> Tangled, </em>but Andrés knows better than to admit this. He’d been surprised three years ago when Martín made it for the first time and explained that in Argentina, people release those lanterns into the sky to celebrate Christmas.</p><p>“I’ll take you back to Buenos Aires one day,” he says and smiles when Martín looks up, clearly surprised. Before he knows it, he has a lap full of him.</p><p>Sergio speaks up:</p><p>“Careful, don’t knock down the-”</p><p>They knock down the tree.</p><p>
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</p><p>Andrés loves Christmas. Why wouldn't he? Sure, some of the decorations are tacky and it's been overly commercialized, but it's a whole <em> theme</em>, a whole spectacle. What's there not to love? </p><p>Sergio is a little Grinch, which is no surprise considering that he simply misses his parents. Besides, when he was younger - from what Andrés knows - he'd spent many holidays in the hospital. That surely was no fun. Therefore, Andrés always makes sure to pay attention to him and to turn the holidays into something special. </p><p>Martín, finally, is somewhere in-between. Andrés can see he likes the ambiance, although he's careful to hide it behind a mask of indifference or sarcasm. Also, he bitches about the weather <em> a lot. </em>He wraps himself up in sweaters and scarves and complains every single time he has to go outside.</p><p>"My ears are frozen," he growls, stepping into the flat late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. "I can't believe the coffeeshop had to be open today, fuck those capitalists and fuck the customers, too, it's been <em> busy, </em> don't they have anything else to- <em> oh. </em>"</p><p>Martín goes quiet as he looks up and Andrés grins at him. The table is beautifully set, moved to the living room from the kitchen so that they can enjoy the food as well as the sight of their Christmas tree. </p><p>"Have yourself a merry Christmas," Andrés says, stepping closer to put his hands over Martín's cold cheeks, getting a dazzled smile in return. He loves how smitten Martín is. </p><p>He loves Martín. </p><p>And he <em> will </em>prove that. </p><p>They eat dinner and Martín plays the guitar, humming some carols. They drink wine. Sergio facetimes Raquel, who's away with her parents and who wishes them all a merry Christmas.</p><p>Then, they exchange gifts - small things, really. Both Andrés and Martín get books from Sergio, carefully chosen, recently published. Martín gifts Sergio a sweater. </p><p>"I've decided to be merciful and not buy you one of the ugly ones."</p><p>Andrés gets a bottle of his favourite cologne - not the cheapest thing in the world, so he appreciates it greatly. </p><p>"You are both getting your gifts tomorrow," he says then and almost laughs at the way they exchange a look. </p><p>Finally, they clean after dinner and stretch out on the couch, and Andrés feels <em> happy. </em>Happy because he's sure their jaws are going to drop tomorrow. Happy because Sergio leans against his shoulder. Happy because Martín presses himself against his other side, nuzzling his neck.</p><p>Happy because after all, he's aware that they're barely more than kids and yet, they're managing.</p><p>Sergio is an orphan, Andrés has only one parent and he doesn't want him, Martín has both parents and neither one of them want him-</p><p>But they have a home. They all have a home.</p><p>
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</p><p>Waking Martín up in the morning has proven to be, surprisingly, the best thing.</p><p>He's still stubborn, though. </p><p>"Get up," Andrés murmurs against the top of Martín's head. He gets a distressed noise in return and there are hands slipping under Andrés' shirt and up his back, warmed up with body heat shared through a long, restful night. Andrés shivers - with excitement, with exhilaration. “Martín…”</p><p>“Fine,” Martín sighs, pulling his hands away and sitting up, their legs still tangled together on the narrow mattress. Andrés watches as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. Being with Martín is really like having domesticated a feral cat; he snarls and claws at others, but he’s docile and yes, adorable even, with Andrés.</p><p>He wants to say: <em> I love you</em>, but he knows Martín, he’s smarter than that. Martín would freak out.</p><p>“Get dressed. You’re getting your gift today,” he says instead, because what he has planned will say the words for him.</p><p>
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</p><p>Neither Martín nor Sergio are particularly happy to be dragged out of the apartment at 9 in the morning on Christmas day. It’s raining again, it’s cold, the city is emptier than usual, but Andrés <em> doesn’t care. </em>He’s excited. Thrilled, even. The gift is so great it almost feels like he’s pulling a trick on them.</p><p>“How much longer now?” Sergio frowns when they’ve been walking for fifteen minutes. “Couldn’t we have taken the bus or something?”</p><p>Andrés can’t stop himself from laughing, pulling at Martín’s sleeve to make him walk faster as he looks over his shoulder at his brother.</p><p>“It’s about the <em> anticipation, </em>Sergio. The build-up! I should know all about it, working in advertising.”</p><p>The corners of Sergio’s mouth twitch at that. </p><p>“Weren’t you about to quit, though?” Martín asks, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“Yes, I was,” Andrés smiles at him, tilting his head. “But I got a raise that made it possible to get you both this gift- and look, here we are.”</p><p>They stop in front of a building inside of which their surprise is waiting. Andrés pulls the door open and lets them into the staircase, then leads them up the stairs. The building isn’t exactly nice, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest.</p><p>Finally, they reach the door and Andrés reaches into his pocket to retrieve a set of keys that rattle in his hand.</p><p>Sergio is the first to realize.</p><p>“No,” he gasps.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“No <em> way.</em>”</p><p>“Yes way," Andrés is grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He glances at Martín, who stares back at him with a small frown, quiet and alert.</p><p>Andrés opens the door wide and steps into the loft, motioning for them to follow. The space is much bigger than their current flat; it’s still raw, it needs polishing, but he can already imagine how <em> good </em> it’s going to look when they’re done with it. It feels <em> grand. </em> Fitting.</p><p>“Living room with kitchen over there, I’m thinking,” Andrés says, gesturing around. “Over there, the bathroom. You have to take a look, it’s huge, and the piping works, or so I was told. Martín, will you be able to take a look at it?”</p><p>Martín nods, looking around with wide eyes. Speechless. How wonderful.</p><p>“Bedroom number one,” Andrés points at the door next to the bathroom before turning on his heel and pointing at another, all the way across the main room (or the soon-to-be living room). “Bedroom number two.”</p><p>Sergio breaks into a wide smile, his eyes drinking in the sheer amount of space around them.</p><p>“Amazing,” he says simply.</p><p>“Isn’t it?” God, Andrés is proud of himself. “I’m thinking we could do an entresol here, too. A nice place to relax, read books and such. What do you think, Martín?”</p><p>He turns to look at him and Martín looks- small. He looks unsure, his arms wrapped tightly around his frame. As if something were wrong. As if everything weren’t going perfectly.</p><p>Andrés steps closer and when his eyes meet Martín’s, he sees a tiny, shy spark of hope. <em> Oh, what an idiot. </em>What a poor, poor dumbass he is.</p><p>“There are two bedrooms,” Martín says quietly.</p><p>Andrés nods.</p><p>“Yes. And there will only be one bed in each of them.”</p><p>A glimpse of fear. Andrés watches, fascinated, as different, conflicting emotions play across his face, like waves crashing against each other, like a sea storm.</p><p>He’d wish for Martín to be able to reach for what he wants; for him to be brave, unashamed. On the other hand, he <em> likes </em>how unsure he is, how delicate, how hopeful, all at the same time. It’s a proof of his love, of his devotion - the decision is up to Andrés. Martín will always follow. He’ll follow, or he’ll break.</p><p>Andrés doesn’t want him to break, though.</p><p>He doesn’t torture him for longer; he takes mercy on him.</p><p>“A double bed in ours, of course.”<br/><br/>Oh, it’s worth it. It’s so much worth it. Martín’s eyes widen and he smiles wonderfully, delightfully, sweetly. Andrés does the same thing he had done with their first kiss and their second - he tilts his head to the side as he looks at him. It’s an invitation, a gesture of permission. With that, Martín doesn’t hesitate.</p><p>His hands come up to Andrés’ neck; he strokes his jaw with his thumb and moves closer, and presses their lips together. Andrés puts his hands on his waist and pulls him in, kissing back, licking his way into his mouth and allowing Martín to wrap his arms around his neck. As insignificant as their height difference may seem, Martín still has to stand on his tiptoes - the imbalance is barely there, but it allows Andrés more control. Martín could have dragged him down for a kiss, but instead, he decided to climb up, risking to lose his footing. He’s absolutely perfect.</p><p>“Our bed,” Martín murmurs, grinning against his lips.</p><p>“Mhm.”<br/><br/>“In <em> our </em>bedroom.”</p><p>“Yes."</p><p>“In <em> our </em>apartment,” says Sergio and Andrés turns towards him, keeping a hand on Martín’s back. Sergio has the face of a true martyr. Adorable.</p><p>“You kind of asked for it," Andrés smirks.</p><p>“Yeah, I kind of did.”</p><p>“And therefore, you are…?”</p><p>“Very happy for you.”</p><p>“And?” Martín chimes in, his tone teasing. God, Andrés loves him.</p><p>“Very happy myself, thank you.”</p><p>“Thank <em> you, </em>dear Sergio.”</p><p>They’ve already made him say it about twenty times over the past month.</p><p>
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</p><p>The learning never stops. January and February come and go, and Andrés realizes that happiness can be just as surprising as pain. He thinks he’s getting used to it and then, something new happens, something nice; something that makes him go: <em> this is right. This is how it’s supposed to be.  </em></p><p>There are many things like that, big and small.</p><p> </p><p>The first time they stay overnight in the new apartment, for example. They borrow a camping heater from Mirko, but they have to sleep huddled together in a sleeping bag to stay warm. The air smells of drying paint and Martín’s breath is hot against Andrés’s neck.</p><p>The first time he sees Martín wearing <em> overalls, </em> he nearly loses it, not knowing whether to laugh and mock him or to pull him into his lap and kiss him. He does both.</p><p>“It’s <em> comfortable,</em>” Martín says, rolling his eyes. “And careful, you’ll get paint on your shirt.”</p><p>“I don’t mind.”</p><p>
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</p><p>The first <em> I love you </em>happens and it happens unexpectedly. Normally, Andrés would have made sure to set the mood right, to book a table for a romantic dinner, to make a confession out of it.</p><p>Instead, they’re sitting on the bathroom floor in the loft, taking a break from checking the pipes - well, Martín has been checking. Andrés has been staring at his ass and offering invaluable insight, such as:<em>That one is a different color. </em></p><p>“What about the electricity?” Martín asks, reaching for one of the sandwiches he had brought from <em> Dalí’s.  </em></p><p>Andrés shrugs.</p><p>“It's been disconnected. We’ll have to call the company.”</p><p>“Or,” Martín says, “we could hook the cable, tap it directly from the line and have it for free.”</p><p>“<em>Dios, </em>I love you so much.”</p><p>The words leave his mouth and there’s a silence, and Martín’s eyes are wide. A milestone, right there, just like that. Just like that.</p><p><em> Of course </em>it happened just like that, Andrés realizes. How else? It’s not like he didn’t love him before.</p><p>He almost wants to laugh, but Martín still looks shocked, so Andrés just smiles, looking over at him. Not even touching. Just looking.</p><p>“Don’t break my heart, now,” he says. “Do you love me back?”</p><p>Martín blinks. Once, twice. Then, he snorts and bows his head.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“No, I want you to say it. And look at me.”</p><p>Martín does. He searches Andrés’ face for a moment before he smiles.<br/><br/>“I do. I do love you. I always have.”</p><p>
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</p><p>The first time Martín asks for a kiss happens in March. They move into the loft, the space filled with furniture - some old, some new - and books, and some plants that Sergio somehow manages to keep alive. The windows are big, the place is bright and it feels <em> right.  </em></p><p>The first time Martín asks for a kiss, they throw themselves onto their new, double bed, in their new, shared room. Andrés stretches out on the covers with a groan, folding his hands behind his head.</p><p>“Finally,” he sighs. “The comfort we deserve. Well, <em> almost. </em>We deserve more. Always more, don’t we?”</p><p>Martín hums in agreement and the bed shifts under his weight as he moves closer, leaning over Andrés with so much adoration in his eyes it <em> nearly </em>takes his breath away. Nearly.</p><p>Andrés waits to be kissed, but Martín doesn’t move. He just stares, his hand placed over Andrés’ arm. Then, slowly, his mouth stretches into a smile and he tilts his head to the side.</p><p>How <em> clever. </em>What a clever, lovely little thing he is.</p><p>Andrés pulls himself up on his elbows and kisses him; softly, gently. <em> Yes, you can ask, </em> he means to say by it, <em> you can ask for more than anyone else.  </em></p><p>Of course, Andrés still decides to flip them over, then. To put his hand at the back of Martín’s head and change the angle of the kiss however he sees fit. To deepen it, make it more passionate.</p><p>“You’re mine,” he says against his lips.</p><p>He knows how it sounds, he knows that most people don’t necessarily appreciate possessiveness. Martín is different. He just smiles.</p><p>“I am,” he says and that’s new, too. Having someone like that. Being someone’s like that.</p><p>It’s new, but it’s right.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It took days, but it's here! I'm emotional like a little bitch.<br/>Thanks to everyone for the support and - most of all - for the comments, I still need to reply to some of those, but I decided that posting the final chapter was long overdue.</p><p>I hope y'all enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <b>Two years later</b>
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</p><p>"I need to break them up."</p><p>"Sergio, <em> come on</em>," Raquel groans, leaning back in her chair. "One week more. After that, we'll be what, meeting for coffee once a week?"</p><p>"I can't," he says, dragging a hand down his face. "The honeymoon phase-... I thought that was supposed to last for, I don't know, a few weeks, a few months top?"</p><p>Raquel shrugs. </p><p>"Your brother does call himself a romantic, so…" </p><p>"Sergio is right," Ágata chimes in, walking up to them and flopping onto the seat next to Raquel. "Look what we've made this morning."</p><p>She slaps a paper onto the table. They look down at it and it's Andrés' face, photoshopped mugshot-style with the words <em> PERSONA NON GRATA </em>written in huge letters underneath. </p><p>Raquel snorts, but Sergio just nods solemnly.</p><p>"Martín has never been employee of the month, but he's been getting worse and worse. And worse," Ágata says. "Does your brother even <em> have </em> a job? Every single time Martín is at work, Andrés drops by <em> multiple times, </em>sometimes for the sole purpose of making out with him for five minutes straight."</p><p>"He works night shifts," Sergio mutters under his breath, looking at the picture before him, not doubting for a second that Andrés will find it absolutely hilarious. </p><p>Hell, he'll probably want it framed.</p><p>"And even when Andrés is not here," Ágata continues, "he texts him like, all the time. Or takes selfies and sends them over." </p><p>"Andrés' phone background is a new picture of Martín every week. It's like he's afraid to forget what he looks like- and we all <em> live together,</em>" Sergio rolls his eyes. When he took that first photo of them together, napping under a tree, he never would have expected that he'd end up getting asked to take more pictures all the damn time. <em> Sergio, snap one of us eating breakfast. </em>Ugh. </p><p>"I told Martín to stop once. He called me homophobic. He called <em> Mirko </em>homophobic."</p><p>At that, Raquel can't help but laugh. Sergio lets out a long-suffering sigh and leans in to put his head on her shoulder, getting a pat on the cheek in return.</p><p>"I get called homophobic <em> and </em>biphobic daily. This morning, for example, because I told Martín to finally do the fucking laundry."</p><p>Ágata nods in understanding. </p><p>"The whole matchmaking thing bit us in the ass, didn't it? Theoretically, if you were to break them up, how would you go about it?" she asks, grinning. "We know that's not happening, but just- let's suppose."</p><p>Sergio opens his mouth, then closes it. He frowns. He can't come up with anything on the spot.</p><p>"I… would have to think about it. Even when they fight, they always make up. And make out."</p><p>"Of course they do," Ágata winces and takes a look at her phone. "Martín's shift- Oh, there you are, you ass! Your shift started ten minutes ago!" </p><p>Sergio turns his head to look at Martín who's just walked in, Andrés right behind him, a line of hickeys clearly standing out against the pale skin of his throat. </p><p>"Sorry, I was doing things," Martín says and they both grin those awful, matching, self-satisfied grins. </p><p>Then, Andrés notices the poster. He steps closer and before Ágata realizes what's happening and has any chance to snatch it away, he picks it up and looks at it, Martín peeking over his shoulder. </p><p>As much as Martín looks pissed over it, Andrés, as predicted, bursts out laughing.</p><p>"What a masterpiece!" he says and Sergio watches as Martín's gaze softens. He gets that, to be honest. </p><p>He doesn't like getting sappy over his brother, but his laughter is one of the best sounds in the world - heartfelt, joyful, bright. He can’t help but duck his head to hide a smile.</p><p>There’s a hand in his hair immediately, ruffling it in an affectionate gesture. He glances up once it’s gone to see Andrés beaming down at him, Martín plastered to his side.</p><p>“What are you, a two-headed monster?” Ágata groans. “Get the fuck to work, Martín, I’m serious.”</p><p> “You’re jealous,” Martín hisses, both arms wrapped firmly around Andrés’ middle. “Jealous, nasty woman.”<br/><br/>“Sh-sh-sh,” Andrés croons, turning his head to press a kiss to his hair. “Don’t be impolite, <em> querido</em>. I have to be on my way anyhow, I’ll see you in the morning, right?”</p><p>And just like that, Sergio feels like barfing again. He knows what that means. </p><p>Whenever Andrés leaves for his nocturnal escapades, Martín always sulks around the apartment, not yet allowed to accompany him. Andrés has been letting slip more and more information on his particular career choice ever since Sergio turned eighteen, but he still doesn’t tell him everything. As for Martín- well, Martín probably knows it all, but he’s not allowed to participate until he’s done with his studies.</p><p>Basically, Martín is getting to feel like he’s being babied; which is fair, to be honest. He had called Sergio a baby one too many times anyway. Serves him right to be treated as such, too; and by Andrés, nonetheless. <em> Vindication. </em></p><p>Still, he’s insufferable like that. He mopes and whines and drapes himself all over the furniture.</p><p>Sergio looks up at the ceiling when they kiss goodbye. He can hear the quiet <em> smack </em> when they're done sucking at each other's lips nevertheless. <br/><br/><br/></p><p>He can’t really bring himself to start packing the next morning. He should, especially since he has afternoon classes that day, which means he has some free time; he should probably start moving already, even, taking the boxes filled with his things to the apartment he’s going to share with Raquel. It only makes sense. They are both adults, they both have half-time jobs, he needs space to study, as well as some peace and calm that’s impossible to find with the two disasters he’s currently living with.</p><p>Still, he can’t. Andrés has been his only family for so long and a part of him fears to break that bond. Or more like- he fears for his brother. He doesn’t want to leave him, he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, he doesn’t want for Andrés to think that Sergio doesn’t want to spend time with him.</p><p>Except that sometimes, he really doesn’t.</p><p>“My cereal, my <em> cereal-</em>...!”</p><p>Sergio has to grab his bowl and get up quickly when Martín gets pushed onto the table, Andrés apparently trying to eat his mouth for breakfast. He just got back from whatever the fuck he was doing and this is his way of saying <em> hello</em>. Sergio supposes adrenaline has something to do with it. </p><p>"I only have one year of studies left, Andrés," Martín says when they finally part, although he doesn’t move from the table and Sergio has to eat standing up.</p><p>"I know, <em> cariño, </em> and you've been so patient, so <em> good.</em>"</p><p>"Excuse me," Sergio clears his throat. "What exactly was the point of me getting a bedroom all the way across the loft from yours if you insist on bringing the bedroom talk <em> everywhere</em>?" </p><p>"You should've heard the actual bedroom talk," Martín purrs, scratching at the nape of Andrés' neck as he winks at Sergio. </p><p>"Thank you, I'll manage."</p><p>Andrés smiles; it's one of those blinding grins that makes Sergio hate the whole situation a little bit less. </p><p>It always goes like this: they annoy him to the point of pure, raging <em> hatred </em>towards their PDA, but then-...</p><p>Then one of them smiles like that, then <em> Andrés </em> smiles like that and well, wasn't that the goal all along? Besides getting rid of Beatriz, of course, who now apparently has an Instagram-famous boyfriend and is making a lot of money. Ágata actually grew to enjoy her content and she said that Beatriz was working on her own line of cosmetics, named: <em> Dodged Bullets.  </em></p><p>Sergio knows rat shit about beauty products, but as much as he despises the woman he has to admit: the name is pretty awesome, so to speak.</p><p>He looks at Andrés and Martín and it eases some of this weird separation anxiety that he has. Are they going to be doing stupid shit once he's not living with them anymore? For sure. But at least, they will be happy. He's sure of that.</p><p>Why?</p><p>Because he's given some thought to the hypothetical idea of breaking them up and, initially at least, he came up empty-handed.</p><p>"Are you free tomorrow after uni?" Andrés asks him once Martín has left for his own class.</p><p>Sergio shakes his head. </p><p>"I have a shift at the bookshop," he says, some warmth showing in his voice. Well, he loves that place. "On Thursday I should be free around five though, why?"</p><p>"Since you're abandoning us and moving out to be on your own," Andrés declares, all solemn, "I'm taking you out to buy you a proper suit, finally."</p><p>"...I'm sorry, what?" </p><p>"You've heard me. You're an adult now, Sergio. A serious relationship, a job, an apartment. Again, you are <em> abandoning </em> me, by all means, so how about you let me have this one last thing, huh? One last fun afternoon with my little <em> hermanito </em>before you forget all about me and about everything I’ve ever given you?”</p><p>So, first of all: Sergio hates him. Second of all: he loves him a whole lot.</p><p>“Fine, okay, stop being dramatic,” he groans. “We can go on Thursday. But I don’t want anything madly expensive.”</p><p>Andrés grins.</p><p> </p><p>The suit that Sergio ends up getting is, of course, madly expensive and he feels completely out of place in it. At least it’s <em>black</em>, after a long dispute with Andrés who was leaning heavily towards other options: <em>chocolate cosmos,</em> <em>brunswick green </em>and <em>dark goldenrod. </em>Apparently, those are all actual color names. </p><p>Despite the disagreements and the time it took for Andrés to throw twenty different matching ties at him, they’ve managed to choose the suit rather quickly, all things considered.</p><p>Then, the other shoe dropped.</p><p>“<em>Amaranth purple. </em>What do you think?” Andrés asks, spreading out his arms as he turns away from the mirror and towards Sergio.</p><p>“It’s purple. It’s literally just purple, Andrés.”</p><p>Andrés rolls his eyes and looks into the mirror again, tugging at the cuff of his sleeve, frowning.</p><p>“That wasn’t what I asked. I want to know how do I look.”</p><p>“You look good, Jesus Christ,” Sergio shrugs, sinking further into the couch at the store. “Just like you were looking good in the blue one, and the green one, and the pink one-”</p><p>“-it was <em> apricot </em>-”</p><p>“-<em> and </em>the brown one.”</p><p>“You’re useless,” Andrés says and now, that’s one step too far.<br/><br/>“Why didn’t you bring Martín, then? I’m sure he would have much more to say about your style choices! I don’t know shit, you know it!”</p><p>“I brought you here because I wanted to <em> share this moment with you</em>, you ass! Brotherly bonding time!”</p><p>Sergio groans. It’s not like he doesn’t appreciate the gesture, in a way. Quality family time and such. The problem is that Andrés <em> of course </em>had to make it all about himself, as per usual, and him talking about clothes or worse, picking them, is a nightmare.</p><p>Still, <em> fine</em>, Andrés is trying to create some fun memories, probably. He’s overreacting, sure, but he has good intentions.</p><p>“Maybe something red,” Sergio says because he decides to try, too, and because that’s the one color his brother hasn’t tried on yet.</p><p>A moment later, Andrés puts on a dark red suit and Sergio nods, giving him a thumbs up. </p><p>"That and the green one, I think."</p><p>"Wow, Sergio, maybe you have some taste after all."</p><p>"Thanks."</p><p>He stares at Andrés for a moment, watching as he fiddles with his tie, and he remembers him on his wedding day, excited to be making a terrible mistake.</p><p>"Do you think you'll want to marry Martín one day?" he asks before he can stop himself. </p><p>It's a risky question. First of all, as comfortable as Andrés seems to be with his sexuality at this point, maybe the idea of a gay wedding would be too much for him. Second of all, maybe it would be the complete opposite - in that case, Martín would surely freak out. He would think it's too soon, too easy - just like with Clara and Beatriz - and therefore, not serious. </p><p>Andrés surprises him. </p><p>"Not right away," he says, keeping his gaze fixed on the mirror, a small smile playing on his lips. "I don't want to marry him just yet, but I want him to know that we are, by all means, endgame. That's what I believe."</p><p>Sergio thinks for a moment, searches through the words to pick up on whatever Andrés really wanted to say.</p><p>Then, he nods. </p><p>It's hard to disagree - if there's someone that will love his brother until the very end, it must be Martín; and from what he's learned about Martín over the years, he knows that he craves reassurance, even when he pretends that he doesn't. <em> Yes, you are wanted. You are loved. You're where you're supposed to be.  </em></p><p>Sergio is, honestly, lucky. He feels that way with Andrés (and Martín) and with Raquel. Like he belongs. Like he's home.</p><p> </p><p>On Friday evening, he finally starts packing. He starts with the books and notes, with his old bullet journal that's filled with plots and ideas. There are journals from when he was a kid, too:</p><p>
  <em> 10.02.2015 </em>
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  <em> I saw Andrés' ID today: nineteen, it said. He's been lying.  </em>
</p><p>Sergio remembers being suspicious about that. Now, he just feels grateful. Being nineteen years old himself, he can't imagine taking a kid in. He knows that Andrés' source of income is illegal, but what does that matter? What does it matter if he wastes some of it? He always gave Sergio enough; enough food, enough clothes, enough books. Enough medicine when it was needed.</p><p>He walks out of his room and finds Andrés and Martín in the kitchen, making dinner. He goes directly for a hug from his brother. </p><p>"Whoa," Andrés grins, wrapping his arms around him. "Someone is getting emotional."</p><p>"Shut up," he mutters, squeezing tight before pulling away. </p><p>"I booked a table at a restaurant on Monday," Andrés says as Sergio lets go. "You know, to start anew after the undoubtedly harrowing experience that seeing you move out on Sunday is going to be."</p><p>"You didn't tell me," Martín frowns, taking a seat on the counter. "Is it a nice place? Do I get to dress up all pretty?" </p><p>"I'll pick something out for you."</p><p><em> Controlling, </em> Sergio thinks. <em> Domineering.  </em></p><p>Martín smiles easily, as if relieved that he won't have to be burdened with the choice. As if he's being cared for. </p><p>In a way, he is.</p><p>God, their relationship <em> is </em>weird.</p><p>"We'll have some luxurious food for once, and the best wine. Raquel is obviously invited, too. We'll toast to new beginnings."</p><p>Sergio shrugs. </p><p>"Okay," he says, taking a quick glance into the oven to see some kind of meat roasting inside. Then, he goes back to his room to sort out through more stuff before dinner. </p><p> </p><p>Afterwards, when they've eaten, he stares at the now empty walls and shelves of his bedroom. A blank canvas, with boxes lying around, marked properly to make the move easier.</p><p>He catches himself getting sentimental when, surprisingly, Martín appears in the doorway. </p><p>"Hey," he says, a tad awkwardly. It's not the situation that's awkward, it's more like Martín's posture, the way he nibbles at his fingertips as he looks at Sergio. </p><p>"Hey," Sergio says and then frowns when Martín doesn't follow that up with anything. "<em>What</em>?" </p><p>"I just-... Look, I know it's been two years and I still think that your plan was one of the dumbest, craziest things ever, but I guess what I wanted to say is: thanks."</p><p>Sergio blinks. Once, twice. He readjusts his glasses. </p><p>"For the plan?" </p><p>"No, <em> fuck no</em>, not for that, that was hell. More like… you know. Come on, you’re smart, you know.”</p><p>Sergio doesn’t know. He doesn’t get why Martín came to him, why now, what is it that he's trying to say. Martín and Andrés <em> did </em>get together thanks to the matchmaking in the end and sure, it all went down in flames, but they got over it. All Sergio did was-</p><p>Realization dawns on him and makes him feel strangely-<em> warm</em> inside.</p><p>“I trusted you’d make my brother happy,” he states and Martín nods, still biting at his fingers, his eyes wide.</p><p>Sergio laughs, shaking his head.</p><p>“Of course I did. I still do. I mean, it’s enough to take one look at him, he <em> is </em>happy. He always is, with you.”</p><p>Finally, Martín drops his hand and grins.</p><p>“Aw, you <em> love </em>us.”</p><p>“No, I don’t,” Sergio goes dead serious again. At the very least, he tries to. “I hate both of you. So much that I’m moving out. I can’t stand you.”</p><p>“You’re going to <em> miss </em>us,” Martín says. stepping closer. He looks like a predator preparing to jump and catch his prey. He looks like he’s about to hug him.</p><p>“No, I won’t,” Sergio declares, his tone final, his lips turning into a pout.</p><p>He almost yelps when Martín grabs his face and leans in. For a moment, he's terrified that he's going to get a kiss.</p><p>“Fine,” Martín whispers instead. “I won’t miss you either, and you know why?”</p><p>Sergio knows. The bedroom talk will definitely leave the bedroom. The other bedroom stuff as well. He’s keeping his set of keys but he’ll have to remember to knock, anyway. <em> Always </em>knock.</p><p>He nods stiffly and Martín lets him go, all smug; underneath all of that, he’s simply happy. Relieved.</p><p>“The things we’re going to do in this room,” he says, looking around, and Sergio groans, throwing his head back.</p><p>They are a <em> pest. </em></p><p>
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</p><p>Sunday morning is bright and fresh, and the windows are open as Sergio is sorting through the last things he needs to pack - his clothes. Martín and Andrés are both out on a date to an art museum and Raquel is on the phone speaker, making his task more pleasant, as she makes everything more pleasant.</p><p>“I don’t get how they still do these like, official dates. Every single week!” Sergio says, rummaging through the drawers in his closet. He stops suddenly and straightens his back, frowning. “Wait. Am I not taking you out on enough dates? <em> Should I </em>be taking you out more? Like, candlelit dinners and such?”</p><p>“<em>Please,</em>” Raquel laughs. “<em>If I wanted to do those, I would have asked you out. Like the first time. It was me who offered to go grab a coffee together, remember? </em>”</p><p>He does. He won’t ever forget; it was a life-altering high school cafeteria experience.</p><p>“Right. Yeah. Anyway, I’m still pondering if I should break them up, you know? For the good of humanity. The greater good, if you will,” he jokes, digging through his pyjama sets.</p><p>“<em>The only scenario you could come up with involved framing for murder and deporting Martín back to Argentina</em>.”</p><p>“Yes, and?”</p><p>“<em>That would be hard to pull off when-...</em>”</p><p>Raquel’s voice fades away in his mind, which barely ever happens, as he opens the last drawer and pulls out some of his socks.</p><p>He stares.</p><p>He’s not-... surprised, he had his suspicions. He’s more impressed, really. It was a smart move for Andrés to hide it in Sergio’s room, since Andrés and Martín basically share everything anyway, including clothes, including socks, probably. </p><p>He’s not even angry that the suit shopping was not about him, that the dinner on Monday - most certainly - won’t be about him. </p><p>Slowly, he reaches for the small jewelry box at the bottom of the drawer and opens it.</p><p>The ring is simple, elegant, pretty, if Sergio knows anything about rings. It’s not the only thing inside the box, though. There’s also a small piece of paper that says: <em> some day? </em></p><p>Only a small part of Sergio wants to barf.</p><p>“<em>Sergio? Sergio. Is everything alright?”</em></p><p>Raquel's worried tone pulls him out of his thoughts.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, putting the box back into the drawer and closing it, a smile tugging insistently - stubbornly - at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, everything is fine.”</p><p> </p>
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